


How Different Wolves Can Be

by SGALOVER



Series: What do you deserve? [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Aiden is a natural flirt, Bonding over trauma, Foodie Behavior, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Papa Vesemir, Post-Season/Series 01, Torture, Vesemir and Jaskier being bros, Witchers are gooey inside.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23824402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SGALOVER/pseuds/SGALOVER
Summary: Vesemir has experienced much in his long life.  He is no stranger to young women throwing themselves at him for a variety of reasons.  But rarely has he been tearfully pleaded with to save someone he already knows.  Or at least, knows of.  What has Geralt done that resulted in an innocent Bard being taken by the Nilfgaard Army?  And what is the Old Wolf to do when he finds a broken man in need?Or: The one where Jaskier becomes part of a big Witcher family because he really earned it.
Relationships: Aiden & Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Vesemir
Series: What do you deserve? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022338
Comments: 301
Kudos: 1071
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. Chapter 1

Vesemir doesn't travel the Path much these days. He hates to admit it but he knows he’s getting older. Most of the contracts he takes on are simply to buy more supplies for the Fortress. This time around he’s ventured farther than he normally would. The rumors of Vampires having taken over a small town that brought him here turn out to be false. But finding out about a new cult like religion, such as the blood drinking one he’d found, was always useful. He’d taken a few notes and the people had been friendly enough to answer most of his questions politely. On his way back he decides to take a more scenic route. This way brings him through a town he hasn't seen in decades. It’s not much different from his memories. Although, as he approaches the tavern, the smells become more concerning. Fear, a little blood, and a lot of human bile. Vesemir sees the puddle as he stops to exam the tavern door. There is no obvious sign of damage. Looking around he can see the rest of the town is similarly unscathed. So he has to wonder why…

“Oh thank the Gods!” a young woman half yells, breaking the silence of late evening. Vesemir turns and sees a female of about 25 years or so running from around the back of the tavern. Her dress is torn, her cheek freshly bruised. Her eyes are red from crying. And seeing as her fear isn't directed at him, Vesemir quickly climbs down off his horse in time to catch her against his chest. She practically collapses on him, sobs falling from her mouth as she tries to speak, “White haired Witcher...he was so nice...just a song!” she breaks down almost completely. Vesemir looks around the streets. Thankfully there is no one here to misinterpret the situation.

He rubs her back, “There there, easy now. I can’t really understand you child. What happened here?”

She takes a few more minutes to catch her breath. When she does she steps back, eyes shining with fright, “Sir, the bard is in trouble!” she snaps in an almost painfully high pitch

“The bard?” Vesimer blinks, “What bard?”

“Your bard!” she snaps incessantly, “The one who sings of the white haired Witcher. The White Wolf!” she seems ever more frustrated by his ignorance

Though now he is aware, at least somewhat, of the situation. Geralt has often complained of a Bard over the last twenty winters. Despite all the groaning it’s obvious that the artist has a special place in the other’s heart. Only for that reason does he sigh and say, “Ah, yes, the bard. What happened?”

Fresh tears spill as the woman says in a shaking voice, “He was just singing. A song about you.” she smiles for a moment, “It was lovely. He was…” she blinks and has to cut off another sob, “We were only kissing out in the stable. Just a little fun.” her cheeks pink in embarrassment but the horror and fear still roll off her as she recalls the memory, “They came for him sir. Men in black armor!”

Vesemir twitches. He may be a bit of a Shut In but his boys bring him news from around the Continent. He knows well that Nilfgard is swiftly taking over the land in the most ruthless way possible. What men from such an army could want with a Witcher’s bard was a mystery. Perhaps Geralt had gotten himself into more trouble than usual? Nothing new about that really. And also no reason some poor soul had to suffer for it, “Where did they take him?” he asks as he eyes the bruises on the woman’s face again, “Did they hurt you too?”

“No, I’m not soiled.” she lets out a slightly hysterical chuckle, “He...he promised to go with them if they didn't hurt me anymore.” she sniffs, “Please, help him.”

Vesemir feels a fondness already forming for a man he’s never met in person, “I’ll find him.” he eyes the footprints and bile on the ground again. Given new context it could be the result of a quickly ended scuffle. Fresh horse tracks lead out of town at a swift pace, “Stay inside for the rest of the night. I may not return depending on what I find.”

“Right.” she rushes back inside without another word

\--------------------BREAK------------------------------------------

It was just a song. And not even one he had sung much in the last two years. But being this far North had left him feeling nostalgic. Gerina had certainly seemed to appreciate it. At least he assumed so considering how quickly she had whisked him off to the stable. How was he to know an enemy was so close. Let alone an enemy he didn't even know he had to start with.

“TALK!” a whistle and crack

Jaskier drowns out the sound of whip with his own scream. He can hardly breath already. His back burns like it’s supporting a blazing log. His shoulders ache as he pulls on the ropes holding him upright. His fingers twist around rough fibers for lack of anything better to do about the pain. Jaskier moans as he slumps, putting all his weight on those same aching shoulders. His knees gave out a few lashes ago. Yet his position doesn't let his knees touch the ground. Normally Jaskier loves dramatics. But stringing him between two trees so that he’s facing down a rather deep gorge is a bit much in his humble opinion. They could have at least allowed him enough slack to fall properly, “I don’t know anything.” he rasps out for what feels like the millionth time, “I swear!” he pleads as he hears the man behind him wind up for another swing, “Please, stop!” the lash comes anyway. Jaskier’s scream echoes in the chasm below like some sort of sick accompaniment to his suffering

“You’re his bard.” The voice is dark and far too close to Jaskier’s left ear. A hand tangles in his hair and pulls. Jaskier whimpers as a blade is placed against his now bared throat, “What good is a bard if he doesn't know where his muse is?”

“I…” Jaskier pushes his fear away long enough to answer, “He threw me away.”

The man lets go instantly and laughs. Jaskier lets his head fall so that he’s looking down at the ground. He can just see where the cliff starts from this angle. For a moment Jaskier burns with shame. It feels like the soldier is laughing at him. Then his embarrassment turns to horror when the man says, “You think I believe that? When you sing about him like you did in that Tavern?” they think he’s lying

“It’s the truth!” Jaskier has to make them see it. If he can’t make them understand then they will never stop hurting him, “He tossed me aside two years ago!” Jaskier shouts as the man at his side retreats to his previous position, “He told me I was the cause of all his trouble!” Jaskier feels his heart break as he says the words he has nightmares about sometimes, “That I shoveled all the shit life brought him! He hates me! Please just…” A whistle and a crack, “STOP!”

“TALK!”

“I’VE NOTHING TO SAY!” Jaskier screams so hard he swears he can taste blood

“Enough.”

The word is spoken at normal volume yet it takes control of the whole area. Even the sounds of the main camp a few yards away quiet. Jaskier’s mind spins with pain and fear. Is this some commander, come to take over the interrogation? Or perhaps some other person wants a taste of Jaskier’s blood? Have they brought forth a torture that leaves the others speechless? Then a snide voice says, “You’re older than we thought you would be?”

“Makes you wonder if I’m who you’re really looking for.” The voice sounds deadly calm, almost threatening in it’s blankness, “But I can assure you I know who I came to retrieve.” Jaskier’s spine shivers at the familiar sound of steel being drawn, “And I’m not leaving without him.”

The only thing Jaskier really understands in his pain fueled state is that the voice does not belong to Geralt. The soldiers want Geralt. They almost killed poor Gerina just to get to Jaskier to interrogate him about _Geralt_! Whoever is here now is in danger, “Run.” his voice is hardly much, given how strained it is. But he knows he can be heard. So he repeats himself after a quick deep breath, “Run. They’ll kill you.” he coughs but refuses to stop, “Leave me. Run.”

“SHUT UP!” the soldier’s voice is filled with rage

Jaskier tenses as he hears that familiar whistle again. Then he untenses slightly when instead of a crack there is an odd metallic ringing. For a moment it’s like time itself hangs on that beautiful note. Then the sound fades and is replaced with new ones. Steel on steel, skin on skin, liquid hitting the ground, and men breathing a wet last breath. Jaskier is pretty sure he’s losing his mind. Either from the pain or panic or possibly just from confusion. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, the sounds stop. And then the night feels far too quiet.


	2. Chapter 2

Vesemir hears the screams before he smells the blood. Not that he needed any more motivation to spur his horse to full speed. The sounds of pure torment seemed to echo throughout the small valley. Seeing the position of the assumed Bard upon his arrival to the Soldier Camp, Vesemir wasn't surprised at the sound’s distance. The boy honestly resembled a pelt strung out for tanning after a poor skin job. Hearing the lad plead with Vesemir to run and save himself was both enraging and endearing. In his mercy he decides to give the gutless cowards around him one chance to realize they’re outmatched. Like many men their age they make rash decisions. Like trying to strike the Bard again. Vesemir moves fast enough to cut the whip in twain before it can strike skin. It’s not long after that the camp is silent. Well, silent except for the muffled whimpers coming from the only living human present. Vesemir is sure to make noise as he steps toward the shivering man, “It’s alright now.” he keeps his voice low, like he had with the woman back in town, “No one is going to hurt you.” he stops just behind the young man, letting his presence become known, “I’m going to cut you down now. Try to stand, and let your arms down slowly if you can.” the Bard doesn't answer verbally, just gives a shallow nod. Vesemir is careful when he brings his sword up to cut the first rope that secures the man’s right arm to a low tree branch. He’s glad he decided to take the young man’s arm in hand because the second the line is cut the body slumps far too quickly, “Easy now.” he goes around to the injured man’s front. 

The man’s face is covered in tear marks and a bit of blood from a freshly split lip. Cornflower blue eyes are fogged over in pain as they take in Vesemir’s face. The gaze doesn't stop roaming until it reaches his hair. Vesemir startles when the Bard asks in confusion, “Geralt?”

Vesemir winces at the rough sound of that tone. Clearly the boy had been screaming for a while, “Not Geralt. Still a friend though.”

“Not a friend.” The voice holds a kind of resigned grief as Vesemir cuts the second rope. As the elder Witcher helps the young man lower himself to the ground he speaks with great sadness, “Didn't want me.” tears fall freshly from reddened eyes

Vesemir remembers the screamed words he had heard as he approached the camp. He had assumed they were lies meant to try and become free without giving up Geralt. Vesemir considers for a moment what had caused the two to split after all these years. Perhaps the Bard had done something unspeakable? Or maybe Geralt had realized the full danger he was putting a human in all the time and let his own guilt chase away a friend. Whatever the reason Vesemir was sure it couldn't be worth leaving the poor boy here alone. Instead of addressing the Geralt related sadness Vesemir helps drag the limp man over to a clean bedroll. He makes sure to face the Bard so he’s looking out at the forest and not the blood spattered tents of the camp, “I’m going to search for medical supplies. I’ll be back soon.” the man on the ground says nothing. Vesemir turns and starts going though bags, crates, and rucksacks. He finds a great deal of gold, salted meat, and small weapons. Eventually he manages to locate some bandages and pain numbing salve. It will have to do.

The bard only whimpers as the salve and bandages are applied. It reminds Vesemir a bit too much of young Witchers who had not yet come to terms with why they had to endure so much pain. And perhaps the man truly didn't understand. From his cries he had not seen Geralt in a couple of years. To humans this time was long enough to grow far apart. Yet that young woman had claimed the Bard had been singing songs of Witchers. Curious. Perhaps the parting truly was one sided. Vesemir snaps from his thoughts when that strained voice asks, “Is Gerina well?”

Vesemir snorts, assuming the name belongs to the girl from town, “Well enough to send me after you. She too mistook me for a different Witcher. Granted, at my age, I don’t mind the mistake.”

“Vesemir?”

Hearing his own name has Vesemir pausing in his final tie of the bandage, “You know of me?”

“Geralt told me.” a sad chuckle, “Long time ago.”

“I’m flattered.” Vesemir turns to retrieve a clean tunic he had managed to find amongst the belongings in the camp, “Raise your arms as best you can.” he instructs as he manages to fit the loose cotton on shivering shoulders. Though it is still Autumn the Far North is already cold for humans. Given how much blood the young man had lost it was a miracle he hadn't gone into shock already, “Are your things back in town?”

A small hiccup that morphed into a sob is the response to that question. A slow inhale and the Bard says with deep loss, “There were more soldiers. They took my things as proof for their Commander of progress. My lute…” the man can’t seem to bring himself to finish his explanation

Vesemir can understand in some odd way. He’d known many kinds of artists during his long life. And most of them would rather die than let their tools come to harm. Same could be said of Witchers and their swords. But there is nothing to be done about it, “Am I to assume those possessions also included your coin?”

“Yes.” is the simple response. Though that one word sounds so exhausted. 

Before Vesemir can try and keep the lad awake he is snoring. Vesemir considers waking him. But with the blood loss, exhaustion, pain, and excitement of the day it was unlikely the young man would remain awake long. Vesemir sighed and reached down to collect the wounded man into his arms. He cast an eye around the camp and made a sound of triumph when his gaze fell on a small cart, “Perfect.”

\----------------BREAK--------------------------------

Jaskier knows pain before he even realizes he’s awake. Hot like fire as it trails up and down his spine. The whimper isn't his fault. Nor is the cry of shock when his whole world shudders. Had he been moving? It’s hard to tell. The world is so bright all of a sudden!

“Take it easy lad.” a large hand takes hold of Jaskier’s shoulder, “You rolled in your sleep. Nasty thing to do with a back like raw meat.”

“Wha…” cloudy memories fly through Jaskier’s brain, “Vesemir?”

“That’s right.” something soft and clean smelling is being wrapped around Jaskier’s eyes, “This should help you sleep through the day. Can’t stop ya from flipping over, but I’ll try to keep an eye on it.” those large hands, so gentle, turn Jackier onto his stomach. Jaskier’s cheek touches something soft and for the first time he wonders about where he’s laying. It’s something flat and broad. There are layers of blankets and furs under his fingers. Before he can think about it more Jaskier falls back into darkness.

\-------------------BREAK-----------------------------

When next he wakes Jaskier does so a bit more naturally. He recognizes the smell and sound of a campfire. Something meat based is cooking. And the familiar sound of steel being sharpened adds a nice little touch to Jaskier’s half awake world. For a moment he can almost pretend. Pretend that the last two years were all a nightmare. That he was still on the Path with the greatest man he knows.

“Are you awake lad?”

The illusion is shattered. Jaskier flinches and suddenly he remembers his back. It aches, but at least it’s no longer burning with heat. He groans out, “Yes sir.” as he manages to sit himself partially up. Large hands appear to help him the rest of the way. The gentle grip lingers, as if to assure itself Jaskier won’t fall, before Vesemir steps into view before him. Jaskier isn't ashamed to admit he hadn't really paid much attention to appearances last night. Now that he can see the older Witcher clearly instead of through a pain filled haze Jaskier is impressed. Just like Geralt, this man is clearly not to be fucked with. He doesn't have any facial scars. But the hard won wrinkles of age serve a similar purpose in Jaskier’s opinion. Proof of survival. And those eyes, while so hard, can’t hide the hint of concern that lingers there, “Thank you.”

Vesemir simply nods once before pointing at the fire over his shoulder, “Got some rabbits on the spit. Didn't have all my herbs but a little rosemary goes a long way so it shouldn't be too bad.” 

“Rosemary?” Jaskier takes a moment to process this, “You use herbs to cook?”

Vesemir raises an eyebrow, “Doesn't everyone?” before Jaskier can answer, understanding fills those golden eyes, “Oh, I’d forgotten for a moment. You traveled with one of my boys. Sad to say they never did pick up my prowess with spices.” the old man turns and Jaskier gets his first real look at the camp. It’s small and simple, just like a Witcher camp should be. Jaskier notices it’s set up exactly how Geralt likes it. Must be something they’re all taught together. There are two hares spitted over the fire. Jaskier is a bit surprised to see each hare is sandwiched on it’s spit by two small potatoes. Vesemir speaks again as he heads over to where his horse is tied, “We need to redo the bandages.” 

Jaskier’s eyes pin themselves to a small cart that is packed with blankets and furs, “Is that...did you bring that for me?” his dry throat finally betrays him and Jaskier coughs a little. It tightens his back muscles and makes him groan.

Vesemir grabs a water skin on his way back to where Jaskier is seated, “Had to figure something out. It’s slowing me down a bit but honestly I’m in no great hurry.” The man offers the skin and Jaskier takes it. A few sips are all he needs to really clear his throat.

“You could have just taken me back to town.” Jaskier says bluntly as he hands the skin back, “It’s not like I want to be a burden for you.”

“No burden.” Vesemir leaves the water skin on the ground between them before pointing at Jaskier’s borrowed shirt, “Take it off so I can get at the bandages.” Jaskier does so without a word of complaint. Though it does stretch his shoulders a bit. Only as he removes those long sleeves does he realize his wrists have also been bandaged, “You fought.” Jaskier looks up from the white linen to see Vesemir looking almost approving, “You have a strong spirit, as well as a decent heart.”

Jaskier snorts as the Witcher reaches forward to start his work, “Not many would use the word decent to describe me.”

“I’m sure not many have had a sobbing girl tell them how you sacrificed yourself to spare her harm.” Vesemir says. Though Jaskier stiffens, the Witcher continues with his work smoothly, “Do you know how rare it is for a young woman to run up to me in the middle of the night and beg for my help? She was practically falling into my chest. True, she thought I was someone else. But she still expected a Witcher. And she did all that for your sake.” Vesemir pauses to wrap fresh linen around Jaskier’s wrists, “The abrasions aren't horrible. It shouldn't scar.”

“I...thank you.” Jaskier winces as Vesemir starts to slowly peel the bandages off his torso, “I’m guessing those will though, correct?”

“Probably a few, but not all.” Vesemir’s voice is soft, assuring. Almost like he’s handling a small animal. Jaskier should be insulted. But he’s feeling a bit vulnerable right now, so he tries not to judge himself for appreciating it, “Still going to take a while for you to be fully healed.”

“Well, if you just give me instructions on how to clean it properly I’m sure I can manage well enough.” Jaskier’s mind is already whirling. Once the Witcher leaves he’ll really need to find a town. He can’t go back to the one he came from. Even if he wants to thank Gerina for sending someone to save him. Clearly the Nilfgaardians knew Jaskier had been there and they had already made their intentions with him very obvious. Though how he’ll afford a room or medicines brings Jaskier up short. He has no coin and no lute. Though perhaps performing would draw too much attention? Jaskier is so caught up in his own thoughts that he almost misses what Vesemir says next.

“Don’t be an idiot. It’s too dangerous for you to be traveling alone right now. Besides, you could never reach the middle of your back.” Vesemir spreads salve there as if to make his point

“Surely you have better things to do than humor me, Master Witcher.” Jaskier says in confusion

“Not really. I’m mostly off the Path these days. And it’s not humoring.” the old Witcher sighs as he begins to wrap fresh linen around Jaskier’s torso, “I don’t know what happened between you and Geralt. But whatever it was, despite having clearly hurt you, it wasn't enough to make you turn on him.”

“I really don’t know anything though.” Jaskier said slowly, “I was telling the truth. They just didn't believe me.”

“You could put it that way.” Vesemir nodded in agreement as he leaned back and handed Jaskier back his shirt, “But you know things about him. Such as where he spends the upcoming season. His usual routes perhaps? Possibly even the specific types of jobs he’s likely to take or areas where he’d consider camping.”

“I...never thought of that.” Jaskier takes a moment to wonder what he would have done if he had. Quickly he realizes it wouldn't have mattered. And the way the soldiers treated him showed Jaskier’s pain wouldn't have stopped regardless of any information he gave. He was still considered an enemy of Nilfgaard. He sighs, “I doubt it would have improved my situation. And fuck Nilfgaard. I don’t want to help them anyway.”

Vesemir lets out an actual chuckle as he turns his attention to the cooking meat, “Well said.” he takes the spits off the fire, “Food should be ready after a minute to cool.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! I hope your day is going well. If you enjoyed the story please let me know with a kudos or a comment :)


	3. Chapter 3

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you out of it!_

“No.” Jaskier gasps as his eyes fly open. They close just as fast against the bright sunlight. The cart under him slows and Jaskier sighs, “It’s nothing, just a nightmare.”

“Your nightmare is just in time for lunch.” Vesemir says as he comes around the back of the cart and helps Jaskier sit up slowly. He’s got a bag with a wine bottle sticking out of it slung over his shoulder. Vesemir sees him eyeing the alcohol and smirks, “I hope you have a fine palate boy. Otherwise this will be wasted on you.” he shows Jaskier the label

The noise Jaskier makes is indecent, “Where on the Continent did you find that vintage?!” he reaches out and lets a single finger trace the forgein script that is artfully inked on the label

“Two towns from the end of the North, Rellat.”

“Not possible.” Jaskier argues as the large man takes a seat next to him on the furs, “This bottle has to cost at least 300 Crowns!”

“400.” Vesemir corrects, his smirk almost feral, “I got it for 4 from some daft innkeeper who stole from his guests.”

“Clever man!” Jaskier laughs as the Witcher pulls out a knife and expertly removes the coark, “I once did a similar thing while at Oxenfurt. Poor man’s Uncle had just passed and he was selling the belongings. Clearly uneducated in the arts, not that that's a bad thing overall. Bad for him though, as he was trying to sell his Uncle’s prized Lute for _far_ too much!” 

“Do tell?” Vesemir sounds amused as he sets the wine aside to breath and pulls a block of cheese from his pack, “By how much?”

“As I told him at the time that’s hardly the point.” Jaskier elaborated with a smile, letting the rest of his tension from the nightmare fade away, “Oxenfurt is a respectable place. If artists caught him trying to scam them he’d never get business again! Being a merchant of fine cheese this was of course a concern for him. In his infinite wisdom he asked my advice. So I informed him that I would kindly give him 30 instead of his demanded 250 because I pitied his lack of knowledge on the subject.”

“That _is_ a large difference.” Vesemir said as he offered Jaskier a knife carved hunk of the cheese

Jaskier took it with a smile of thanks and nibbled on it as he continued to elaborate, “Indeed. The man actually thanked me for correcting his mistake and asked me to price a few other things. After it was all said and done I ended up getting the lute for free as a thanks.”

There is a pregnant pause before Vesemir cracks, “How much was it worth?”

“245.” they share a small bit of laughter before lapsing into silence. Jaskier lets his eyes wander to the mountains rising up to their left. It’s been three days and they’ve never left its side. Jaskier wonders if they could walk around it given enough time. Probably. But it still makes him wonder, “How much longer will I travel with you Master Witcher?”

“At least a few more days for the sake of your wounds. After that...well…” the old man trails off as he picks up the wine from the ground. Pulling two wooden cups from somewhere in the furs Vesemir pours them some wine. As he hands one to Jaskier he says, “The Winter will be here soon. I have to go back early and prepare the Keep for the others. I would welcome you as my guest. Encourage it even given your current status as Nilfgaard’s most wanted bard. But it might get a bit...awkward.” Jaskier starts to deflate until Vesemir says, “Of course I wouldn't let Geralt bully you. Perhaps seeing what you’ve suffered for him will pull his head out of his ass.”

Jaskier had almost forgotten he had an ally in the aging Witcher. Jaskier had managed to spill his guts at Vesemir’s feet while being pulled along on the cart. How he’d met Geralt, all their adventures, and then eventually being tossed aside just because he was trying to help. Vesemir had been disappointed but not entirely surprised.

_“It’s said Witchers can’t feel. You and I know that’s a lie. But hearing it so often when they’re young makes it easier to accept as fact. Makes a lot of things easier. Like lashing out at people who make you have emotions you don’t recognize.”_

“I’ll think about it.” Jaskier looked up at the mountains again as he sipped his wine. He shivered, “Oh, that is good stuff.”

\--------------------------------BREAK--------------------------

Geralt yelled in rage as his sword flew down swiftly. The man in black armor at his feet gurgled before stilling. His ears strained for the sound of any more enemies. After a moment Geralt zeroed in on the only sound that mattered, “Ciri!” he called out into the forest, “You can come out now!”

From behind a cluster of trees the former Princess emerged with Roach’s reins clutched in her shivering hands, “Are they all dead?” she sounded a mix of terrified and hopeful that broke Geralt’s heart

“Yeah.” he sighed and put his sword away. Geralt headed in her direction through the remains of the Nilfgaardian scouting party, “Are you alright? Did they…” he jerked when his foot hit something and a familiar sound filled the air. He paused, looking down at a horribly recognisable looking instrument case, “Can’t be.” he muttered aloud

“What?” Ciri took a few steps closer. Her wide eyes taking in the thing that brought Geralt to a halt, “Is that a lute case?”

Geralt reached down slowly, his gloved fingers moving over familiar buckles. The snaps of them opening seemed to echo in the clearing. As he moved the hard leather aside his nose was assaulted with familiar smells. Oil, perfume, sunshine, wine, and just a hint of something unique, “Jaskier.” Geralt’s eyes roamed over the familiar filigree of the elven lute that lay inside the case. His mind whirled with reasons that such a thing would have been in the possession of a Nilfgaardian scouting party. None of them were good for the Bard’s health. Geralt closed the case and handed it to Ciri, “Wait a moment. I have to check something.” 

Ciri watched Geralt go from corpse to corpse. He searched pockets, boots, and satchels. Eventually he found a rather elegently tied scroll, “What is that?” Ciri asked as she readjusted her grip on the hard leather case.

“Their orders.” Geralt ripped the ribbon and wax away before unfurling the parchment. His eyes scanned over words that made him feel more and more queasy. Phrases jumped out at him. 

_Find the bard known as Jaskier_. 

_Information about Geralt of Rivia and the Princess of Cintra._

_Extreme Interrogation Approved._

“Fuck.”


	4. Chapter 4

Vesemir had sold the cart two days ago, and half the furs. With that money they had bought Jaskier his own horse and a few simple clothes to wear. Jaskier had eyed the brighter colored material but Vesemir had pointed out they drew too much attention. Now here they were. The final point where Jaskier was forced to decide, “Well lad?” Vesemir asked as he angled his horse toward the mountain path, “What do you want to do?”

Jaskier took a deep breath, “If you’re sure I’ll be welcome?”

“It’s my Keep. I say you’re welcome.” Vesemir smirked, “It would be nice to have someone educated to talk to.”

Jaskier snorted, “Formal education is laughable my dear Witcher. Mostly a bunch of students drinking, fighting, and fornicating.” he sighed and nodded, “I’ll go with you. Both for good company and my own safety.”

“That’s a smart lad.” Vesemir waited until Jaskier’s horse was by his own before they continued down the path, “Shall I tell you about my other pups? Or did Geralt speak of them as well?”

“I know Lambert is an ass.” Jaskier supplies with a grin, “And that Eskel is more skilled at Signs than most Withcers. Other than that I’m clueless.”

Vesemir allowed himself to smirk, “Accurate statements both. But did he tell you about any of the other Witchers that might show up?”

“I thought it was just the four of you?” Jaskier asked, though his tone was cautious

Vesemir appreciated the caution but brushed it aside, “It is, for the Wolf School. I’m sure you know there is more than one school correct?”

“Of course.”

“Well then you should also know they’re about as well liked and numerous as the Wolves. It’s not every year, but occasionally we get the odd Bear or Griffin Witcher who shows up feeling nostalgic for company. Kaer Morhen is open to them as long as they respect our traditions.” Vesemir informed Jaskier as they made their way into a denser part of the tree line where a path was barely visible

“Noted.” Jaskier looked around as they continued through the quiet forest. Vesemir wasn't surprised when Jaskier started to hum. Within the hour Vesemir was sure the Bard would begin to sing softly to himself. The way the lad’s fingers twitched against the reins was a clear giveaway. Vesemir is sure he can find an old instrument or two around the Keep. Not a lute, but perhaps the odd horn or harp. Some of his old friends had interesting hobbies. And Jaskier had not hesitated to mention all of what his formal education had entailed when Vesemir asked. Whatever the instrument the Bard was sure to be happy about it.

\--------------------BREAK------------------------------------

“I really don’t know about this Lamb.”

Lambert sighs and looks back at his traveling companion with annoyance, “We’ve been over this a hundred times already.” he most certainly isn't whining

“I know.” eyes as gold as freshly minted Crowns look down almost bashfully, “I know you said it wouldn't matter. And that if it did it’s why we would show up early. Because I know that if Vesemir says no you will come back down the mountain with me.” a bitter chuckle, “But why bother in the first place? We could make it far enough South before true snow settels if we just skip the obvious waste of a trip.”

Lambert growls and stomps over to take firm hold a well muscled shoulder, “We’re different, right?”

“Lamb…”

“Right!? Isn't that what we decided?” Lambert pokes the other Witcher in the chest, “You don’t kill without a good reason. And I’m good for more than just brute force and growling. Isn't that what we agreed on?” By the end Lambert has let his voice soften. If anyone else in his life had heard him speak like this they would have thought him an imposter. But he made an exception for this man. A Cat Witcher by the name of Aiden who had shown Lambert so many new things. Not just about being a Witcher, but about being a friend. Not that he’d ever admit that sort of thing out loud. It’s not what they did.

“Yes.” Aiden raised a hand and firmly gripped the back of Lambert’s neck. The Wolf Witcher didn't hesitate to follow the pull until their foreheads met, “We are different. And that’s why we’re friends.”

“Damn straight.” Lambert allowed the embrace to last for a few seconds before tugging lightly away. He motioned to the path that would lead to the last town before the mountain pass, “So, gonna join me buddy?”

\------------------------------BREAK------------------------------------

“Oh my.” Jaskier gasps as Kaer Morhen comes into view at last. It’s still a decent distance away. But the distance makes the view even more impressive, almost like the castle was carved out of the mountain itself. 

“It’s not as nice as it looks.” Vesemir says even though he’s grinning 

“So you’ve mentioned. Still damned impressive though.” Jaskier looked around the valley as more of it became visible. Out of habit he started to reach for his saddle bag, his fingers aching to write down artistic metaphors in his notebook. Only after touching the new leather of the latch did he remember this wasn't his original property. His precious song book was leagues away, probably discarded into a box to be forgotten or burned. He grunted in sadness and frustration, “Damn it all! Here I am being inspired and nothing to help me record it.”

“Hold on.” Vesemir slowed his horse to a stop and rooted around his pack. After a moment he pulled out a worn looking journal and a stick of charcoal, “Here, will this do?”

Jaskier took the offered item and flipped the pages open. He blinked at the perfectly depicted plants and monsters that were drawn on every page surrounded by neatly scrawled notes, “I...are you sure?” Jaskier rubs the fine quality paper, “I’d have to tear out a few pages at least.”

“I was going to replace it after this jaunt.” Vesemir waved his words away as they started down the trail again, “Use what you can before we get to Kaer Morhen. After that I’ll get us both a fresh one.”

“Thank you.” Jaskier carefully started to scrawl with the charcoal as they continued. At first his ideas were about the surrounding trees and snow. But eventually he started to write about kind Witchers with soft eyes and strong hands. 

Once they reach the Keep, Vesemir becomes all business, “Stable the horses lad. I have to make sure nothing dangerous moved in while I was away.”

“Like wolves?” Jaskier asked as he took the reins to Vesemir’s mount, his tone only half joking

Vesemir snorts in that fond way Jaskier has learned over the last few weeks as he heads for the main doors, “If we’re lucky. Sometimes it's Forktails, others it’s Wyverns.”

“Oh.” Jaskier hesitated as he watched the aged Witcher open the door to enter, “Will you...require any help?” his voice was a bit weak, mostly from a fear of being mocked

“Stay in the stable.” was his only response as the Witcher vanished inside

“Well, guess that’s for the best.” Jaskier tried to ignore the sting of rejection. He knows it’s not personal. It’s really the only logical thing. Jaskier is a weak, squishy, easily killable human. And honestly he provides more help _after_ a fight than _in_ one, tending to wounds both physical and mental as need be. Pushing away his foolishness Jaskier headed for the Stable. It was cozy compared to the chilled wind outside. The hay was plentiful but it would require turning. Jaskier set to work removing the saddle off Hercules, already preparing the list in his head of tasks to do while he waited for Vesemir’s return. Jaskier is half way through polishing the saddle when the Witcher enters wearing a grin.

“No monsters this time. Which means I can show you around without interruptions.” the tone and expression make Jaskier slightly excited

“Do you perhaps have something in particular you wanted to show this humble Bard?”

Vesemir just smirked a bit wider, “Perhaps. But it can wait until the end of our tour.”

Jaskier made a show of sighing as he put down his cleaning cloth and set the saddle aside, “If the Master of the Keep insists.”

“He does.”

“Lead the way.”

The tour was truly astonishing. It seemed the outside areas took up as much space as the inside. So many places for very specific uses. A place to practice Signs, one for close combat training, also stretching, plus archery, as well as swordplay, dagger throwing, the list was truly impressive. And while the Grounds had elaborate architecture the inside was breathtaking. High ceilings, large arching doorways, full wall length murals, and impressive wall hanging are just the major points to catch Jaskier’s eye. The Kitchen is cozy with a large fireplace that lets you see into the Main Hall. Jaskier nearly weeps when he sees the spice rack. He actually lets tears fall when they reach the Library.

“It’s glorious.” he whispers as he lets his eyes roam over the massive shelves filled with tomes of varying ages

Vesemir let out a hum of agreement and appreciation, “Thank you for saying so. I spent a lot of time trying to organize it. One day I might even finish. Perhaps that’s something you can help with this Season.”

“I’d be absolutely delighted.” Jaskier fluttered his eyelashes at the Witcher playfully, “Is this my surprise.”

“No. I’ve got something better.” Vesemir’s smirk was far too smug

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Jaskier practically dragged Vesemir from the Library. The Witcher humored the Bard and let himself be led for a few short feet before once more taking control. To Jaskier’s surprise, instead of continuing to go up the levels of the Keep, they started heading down. And oddly enough the farther down they went the warmer it became. Only when Jaskier heard the flow of water did theories start to flood his mind. By the time they entered a cave that was lit with luminescent mushrooms on the walls Jaskier was shivering with anticipation. All the breath left Jaskier’s lungs as he took in the Hot Springs before him. Carved stone bathes. Natural two way running water that kept the tubs full of clean, clear liquid. And the steam, Gods! Jaskier felt his pores opening already. His eyes catch sight of a small bin with oils and soaps in it. Jaskier can already tell none of them are scented, which makes sense given who the Spring belongs too. Still, he makes a mental note to extract a few oils once he finds some fresh herbs. 

“So, thoughts?”

“You’re my favorite Witcher ever.” Jaskier says as he reaches up to start taking off his clothing, “Now let's get all this road dirt off. I’m filthy!”


	5. Chapter 5

Eskel breathes a sigh of relief when he finally passes through the gates of Kaer Morhen. The trip up had consisted exclusively of rainy weather. He’d tried to wait it out a few times to no avail. Of course, because Eskel was lucky like that, the sky had been clear for about three hours. The sunset had been beautiful though. He was thinking about the rainbows he’d seen over the lake when an unfamiliar scent wafted through the air. Roses mixed with a touch of citrus, something akin to what Noble Women wore. Eskel’s ears strained for sound. There! His eyes zeroed in on one of the higher battlements. A man Eskel had never seen before was leaning over the aging stone, eyes fixed on the clear night sky above, and mumbling to himself. His clothing was simple. Brown trousers, a heavy fur coat, and worn looking boots. There was something shiny in the man’s hands that Eskel couldn't identify from this distance. But there was something he did recognize, the coat. That was Vesemir’s coat! Something the old Witcher had worn years ago but put away a few seasons past when given a new one by Eskel. Being as quiet as possible Eskel slipped off of Scorpion and started to scale the wall. It wasn't hard given the number of holes created by the state of the Keep. Within a few minutes Eskel had reached the landing where the stranger still stared up at the moon and stars. Eskel could now see a notebook placed on the stone between the man’s supporting arms. The shiny object had been a quill. The paired ink pot was almost empty.

“Why do my eyes betray me so?” Eskel only just stopped himself from jumping. He was about to respond when the man continued. Though now he spoke more Eskel detected the tone. Almost lyrical, like a poem? “Colors have faded, left me to woe. I know not when I shall see it again. Those reflected colors of the sky. Brought forth by the unforgiving rain…” the recital trailed off and the man groaned, “Oh, why can’t I think of any more? All that beautiful inspiration wasted!”

“Have only come to die.” Eskel suggested as he drew his steel sword

“Oh sweet Meliteli!” the man spun, bright blue eyes wide in surprise. Those orbs scanned over Eskel’s face, his clothing, the medallion, and finally stopped on the sword, “Please don’t kill me?” more of a whimpered question than a real plea for his life. Interesting. The man’s hand twitched backward, toward the quill, “Also, if you’re going to kill me, at least give me a chance to write that down. It wasn't a half bad line.”

Eskel couldn't help it. He snorted. Mostly in bemusement but still, it was a laugh. The sound of it seemed to relax the other man. Eskel wasn't sure he wanted that. At least not until he got some answers, “You can write the line as long as you tell me why you’re here. And where is Vesemir?”

The man practically beamed, all his fear draining so quickly it made Eskel blink, “Thank you!” he turned and began to dab his quill into the ink, “I’m here because Geralt is a jackass. Vesemir is in the library. Or at least he was a few hours ago when I came out here after the rain stopped. I was hoping it had washed some inspiration into my life. Sure enough, those rainbows did the trick. At least until that last bit. But you were a great help with that.” The man had finished his writing and was waving his hand over the wet ink to dry it faster. As he did so he redirected his blue gaze back to Eskel, still smiling.

Eskel didn't lighten the grip on his sword as he processed all of that, “Geralt is here?” he asked, trying to latch on to something familiar amidst all the chatter.

The smile dimmed, something painful forming in the eyes, “Not yet. But we expect him this Winter for certain. Meanwhile it’s just me and Vesemir. Three now, with you here.”

“Songbird, are you out here?!” a call came from the main entrance to the Keep. It wasn't visible from here but even human ears would be able to pick up and point out a bellow like that of the old Witcher

Eskel winced when the man before him let out an impressively loud response, “Yes! And one of your Pups is here. Eskel, if I’m not mistaken.” Eskel sees those blue eyes looking at the still raised sword, “He’s threatening me.”

“Good, he should be suspicious. But it would be foolish for it to carry on any longer. Both of you come inside.” and that appeared to be that as no further words came

“Grumpy old wolf.” the man said in a tone of mild fondness, “Well, shall we take the normal way down.” he gestures to the stairs

“Sure.” Eskel puts away his sword and holds out his hand, “You already know me looks like, but I don’t know you.”

“Jaskier.” the man beams again and takes the offered hand in a firm and calloused grip, “I’d tell you a bit more now but that can probably wait until we’ve gotten you inside. You must be freezing in those wet clothes.” they begin to descend the stairs

“I appreciate the concern but I’ll be fine. Just need to get this coat off and stand in front of the fire for a while.” Eskel pointed toward Scorpion, “Besides, I have to take care of my horse first.”

“I can do that!” Jaskier looked excited by the prospect, “I love horses. And taking care of the stable is one of my chores anyway.”

“I...guess that would be, okay.” Eskel hasn't felt anything hostile from Jaskier yet. And Vesemir even had a nickname for the odd man. Plus, it was clear Jaskier planned to spend the whole Season here. Eskel might as well try to start being cautiously nice

“Great. What’s this fine gentleman’s name?” Jaskier reaches out a bit too quickly

“Wait, be careful!” Eskel pauses when instead of nipping Jaskier’s hand Scorpion leans into the touch, “Wow, that’s new. Normally Scorpion only likes me.”

“I have a way with horses. I know how to deal with the stubborn ones.” Jaskier made a shooing motion at Eskel, “Go on then. I’ll be in shortly. Tell Vesemir not to drink that wine without me. He’ll know the one.”

“Sure.” Eskel took one last look at Scorpion before taking his main pack and heading toward the front doors.

Vesemir was in the Main Hall setting down plates on the last remaining table in the room. A few steaming dishes were already set on the hardwood. The fire was burning larger than it usually would, probably for the human outside. Eskel opened his mouth to ask about that but was interrupted by Vesemir, “I hope you were wise enough not to hurt the lad.”

Eskel paused, “No sir. He was clearly not a combat threat. But I was worried that…”

“Someone had gotten the better of me?” Vesemir finished Eskel’s sentence. It wasn't a secret that one day the Wolves might return to find the place raided and their Teacher dead. Or perhaps slain by a creature attempting to make the Keep it’s home. Vesemir snorted, “Not this year pup.” he spreads his arms and smiles, “Welcome home.”

Eskel falls into the short hug with a sigh, “It’s good to see you Vesemir.”

\-------------------------BREAK-----------------------------------

Jaskier let out a sound of triumph as he shut the Stable doors. Scorpion seemed to get on well enough. He had made doubly sure to give extra treats and a few healthy herbs to stave off any negative effects from the long term rain. And the brushing had almost put the horse to sleep much to Jaskier’s amusement. Though it had taken him slightly longer than he would have liked. Hopefully Vesemir had been able to restrain himself from the bottle picked out for tonight. It was a good one from Oxenfurt, a 15 year vintage. Jaskier made his way carefully through the rocky courtyard before reaching the doors and slipping inside. The wave of warmth that hit his face made him sigh, “Oh yes.” he started to remove his coat as the sounds of laughter drifted through the hall. Jaskier beamed as he entered the Main Hall and saw the Witchers leaning on each other.

It had become obvious to Jaskier very quickly how much Vesemir treasured his remaining sons. The stories alone, if not the tone they were told in, were more than enough to reinforce that fact. Seeing the father and son Witcher pair was frankly adorable. Something happier than Jaskier had previously seen shown in Vesemir’s eyes as Eskel let out a final bark of laughter and downed half of whatever was in his mug, “You should have seen it Vesemir! The looks on those fools' faces when I showed them the mangey monster.”

“Oh, am I missing story time?” Jaskier laid the fur coat carefully over the bench on the opposite side of the table from the two Witchers. He sat with a smile and reached for a plate that was covered in a cloth. Taking the fabric away Jaskier nodded at Vesemir, “Thank you for keeping a plate warm for me.”

“You’re welcome Songbird.” Vesemir said, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and amusement, “Eskel was just telling me about a Village that mistook an old net for a river monster.”

“Any specific type?” Jaskier asked, reaching toward the furs and extracting his paper, quill, and half empty ink pot. He set them up next to his plate and took notes between laughing and eating while Eskel recounted the tale. It was hilarious! It’d probably make for a comical dancing jig at an inn. By the end of the story Vesemir was pulling a familiar bottle from the end of the table. It was already open, having had a decent amount of time to breathe, “Oh Ves, you saved it.”

“Ves?” Jaskier wasn't sure he heard the whisper from Eskel because it was so low

“I knew you were looking forward to it. And wine is better when shared with people who appreciate it.” giving an eye roll and a heavy sigh Vesemir glances over at Eskel, “Though I suppose I might part with a small amount if the Pup can promise not to swallow it like rock gut.”

Jaskier doesn't really understand the look on Eskel’s face. It’s parts amused, confused, and Jaskier could swear that was a dash of horror. Hard to tell given the scar. But the man smiles at Vesemir and says, “You two share it. I’ve had a long trip. A bed sounds really good right now.” he stands and gives both Jaskier and Vesemir a respectful bow, “Enjoy your night.”

“Oh, we will.” Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows as he takes up the bottle from the table, “I do love an older vintage.” Eskel makes some sort of weird choking sound from where he is halfway across the hall before his steps pick up speed. He’s gone in seconds. Jaskier lowers the bottle back to the table, his shoulders slumping slightly, “Was it something I said.”

“Yes and no.” Vesemir sounds so smug it makes Jaskier instantly suspicious, “Eskel has made assumptions without asking questions. He’ll figure it out on his own, so don’t let his thick head bother you. Now…” Vesemir reached for the bottle this time

\---------------------------BREAK---------------------------------------

Aiden looks up at the mountain in trepidation. He’s a Cat, he’s not afraid of a climb. What he finds at the other end of that climb is an entirely different story however. A small rock hits Aiden’s leg, “Hey, did you hear anything I’ve been saying?”

Aiden cringed slightly in embarrassment, “Sorry Lamb. Stuck in my head again.” he brings a hand up and rubs furiously at his scalp. He absentmindedly notices his hair is getting shaggy again.

“Well maybe this’ll help.” Lambert stood and wandered over to their horses. After a few moments of rooting around in the bags he pulls something out. Aiden can’t see it properly from where he is sitting, and Lambert hides it behind his back during his return trip to the fireside, “I was going to save this for when you got bored this Winter. But I think it’ll be more useful now. Something to obsess over during the climb.” Lambert holds out a decently sized book with larger than average pages, his grin overly smug 

Aiden takes the book and looks at the scrawl on the front. He beams, “You hate these songs!”

“Yeah, but you love ‘em.” Lambert still looks smug but it’s much softer now, “And your voice isn't half bad.”

“Well get ready to hear it a lot on the trip.” Aiden flips through the clearly written sheet music, absorbing the words and their proper associated notes, “Should I start with the classic first? I mean, there's over a decade worth of gold here. But that one…”

“If you have to.” Lambert rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling as he makes himself more comfortable on his bedroll

Aiden returns the smile as he flips the book back to the front, “Toss a Coin, here we go.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jaskier is in the Hot Springs the next morning. While his head aches slightly it’s certainly not a full blown hangover. Well worth finishing that whole bottle. And damn Witchers for not getting drunk as easily. It was a constant source of teasing at their weekly wine tastings. With a sigh of contentment Jaskier reaches over his shoulder to where he left his bath basket. The startled yell he lets out when his fingers touch flesh is probably the least manly he’s ever sounded. Moving in water is awkward enough when you take your time. When Jaskier tried to jump away from whoever had snuck up behind him he couldn't coordinate it properly. This caused him to be cut off mid squawk when he stumbled backward and under the warm water. Large hands gripped Jaskier’s shoulders tightly and pulled. Jaskier broke the surface of the water and for a moment he just let that strong hold support him while he coughed air back into his lungs. Blinking against the water droplets in his eyes he glared at the slightly sheepish but still amused looking Witcher before him, “Not funny Eskel!” he snaps, “You can’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Clearly I can.” though it’s still amused the tone isn't malicious or barbed. He lets go of Jaskier once the Bard gets his feet under him again, “I honestly didn't mean to. I don’t usually go out of my way to make noise when I’m in my own home.”

“Go out of....is that really a thing?” Jaskier asks as Eskel removes the towel that had been wrapped around his waist and slides into the water across from Jaskier. The Bard doesn't stare, but he does take note of a few scars before returning his gaze firmly to Eskel’s eyes to prod once more, “Makeing noises for humans I mean.”

“Sometimes. I’ve learned humans don’t like being snuck up on by monsters.” Eskel sounds so tired as he slumps down so that his head vanishes under the water for a few moments.

When he comes back up Jaskier says, “I appreciate the thought. Though I disagree about the monster bit personally. I find Witchers to be excellent company most of the time.”

Eskel clears his throat, almost making the same sound as last night in the hall. After an awkward moment of silence he asks “Does the rest of that time have to do with Geralt being a jackass?”

His explanation on the battlements flashes through the Bard’s mind, “Yes...some.” Jaskier catches a hand migrating around his side to finger one of the larger remaining lash scars. He hopes the Witcher didn't notice as he covers the move by kneading his ribs and shoulder, “I’m certainly loving this Spring. Fit for Royalty.”

Eskel chuckled, “Not likely to ever see that happen. Imagine some puffed up Nobel lowering himself to bathe with Witchers.” 

“I’m certainly not lowering myself. Although I feel the need to point out that Nobility and Royalty aren't always the same thing.” Eskel is giving him a raised eyebrow, “Alright, so my father probably already disowned me. But I was once a Vis Count. And yes, there was a time in my youth when I had my head jammed up my ass like the rest of them.” Eskel chuckles again, a bit less bitter this time, “That all changed when I met Geralt of Rivia.”

“Oh. So we’re still talking about that?” Eskel still appears amused as Jasker turns to look through his soaps, “I thought you were trying to avoid the subject like last night.”

“Look who's talking.” Jaskier quipped back, “I thought we were all going to sit around the fire last night and hear stories from you. I get one silly bugger out of you and then you have the audacity to be tired.” his voice is teasing as he picks out something with citrus and turns. Eskel is still smiling but he’s wearing that uncomfortable look from last night. Not wanting to lose his new companion just yet, Jaskier offers the soap, “Would you like to try some? I can tell you about Geralt and I’s adventures.”

“Sure.” Eskel takes the soap and sniffs it, his tension easing slightly, “These are nice ones. Not too strong.”

“Thank you. I made that.” Jaskier beams at the surprised look that gets him, all of Eskel’s remaining tension fading away, “Now, about Geralt?”

“Yeah.”

Eskel leans back and starts to lather up while Jaskier reaches for another bar. This one is scented with mild wintergreen. He begins to wash himself as he recounts, “As I was saying, I wasn't always so charming. When younger I believed a great many things told to me by those I thought wiser simply because of their age or status. Traveling with Geralt showed me how wrong I had been. Often I would see people treat my friend as no more than a beast. Even after he had shed blood to free them from some monster or curse. I witnessed Geralt be kind to creatures most would run through with a blade in a blink. I treated his wounds while he came down from potions. And tried to sing songs of his good deeds to ease his burden brought on by reputation.” Jaskier watched the suds wash away in the gentle current of the spring, his mind awash with fond yet bitter memories, “And then he threw me away.” Though nothing but a sad whisper Jaskier is sure he was heard

“What did you do?” Eskel sounds more curious than accusatory, but Jaskier still flinches

“Funny, I wondered the same thing for months afterward. I came up with plenty of theories. Sexy, scary, siren-like sorceresses poisoning his mind. The altitude maybe, though obviously that one was silly. Perhaps I was simply too useless on the Path to put up with anymore. Honestly, it still made me wonder what I’d done wrong until a few months ago.”

“What happened then?” Eskel asked as he finished cleaning his hair

“Destiny.” Jaskier snorted, his tone bitter, “Seems even when Geralt doesn't want me he can still cause me pain. Nilfgaard wants something Geralt has. A Child Surprise, the former Princess of Cintra.”

“Holy shit! Are you serious?” Eskel looks shocked and mildly horrified as he sits up straighter in the water so fast there are little splashes

“I am. And I didn't even know he’d claimed her until Soldiers dragged me from a town and tried to get information out of me. Having not seen the brute in two years I of course knew nothing useful.”Jaskier doesn't bother to halt the movement of his hands this time as they reach for flesh that suddenly feels like it’s burning again even though it’s been healed for a while, “They didn't accept that as a possibility.”

There is a short pause, “How long…” Eskel snaps his jaw shut, as if he hadn't wanted to speak in the first place but his body had done it’s best to overrule him.

Jaskier sighed and let himself sink into the water until it hit the edge of his chin, “Not long. A few hours. Vesemir came then. Sent by a fan of mine who had witnessed my capture.”

“Fan of what if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, certainly not. And how rude of me to forget proper introductions last night. I am Jaskier, former Bard of the White Wolf and writer of all songs kind to Witchers. You’ve probably heard my first composition at least I dare say. It was based on my first adventure. Toss a Coin.”

“That’s you?!” Eskel smiles. A kind, gentle, genuine smile of gratitude, “Thank you for that. It’s saved me from many an Innless night. And even gotten me a bonus a few times.”

“It’s what I wrote it for.” Jaskier shrugs but does his best to smile back while pain roils in his chest, “At least someone appreciates me.”

“Damn straight.” Eskel stares at Jaskier for a few moments, “You don’t have to explain anything anymore if you don’t want to. I can see that it’s hurting you. Perhaps I could have your permission to ask Vesemir…”

“Please do.” Jaskier lets out a sigh of relief, “It would be easier if he told it. He’ll probably remember more of the beginning of our acquaintance anyway. Poor man had to do most of the heavy lifting around then.”

“Speaking of Vesemir.” Eskel suddenly grew serious, even though that weird look from last night was back, “I wanted you to know that I don’t mind that he brought you here. Even more so now that I know tmost of the story. You two seem to get on well and it’s nice to see the old man so happy.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll admit I was hesitant to come. The way Geralt spoke of this place it seemed so...forbidden I guess.” Jaskier sighed as he sat up and started to stretch out his shoulders a bit, “But Vesemir promised sanctuary in return for the odd favor. Nothing I’ve minded so far.”

“Seems like more than just favors.” there was something teasing and warm in Eskel’s tone, “You genuinely enjoy his company.”

“And yours too I’m sure, once we find the time.” Jaskier said casually, already thinking of a little show to put on this afternoon during training. Vesemir had suggested it last night. Luckily the old Witcher had managed to find Jaskier a small harp upon their arrival a while ago. It wasn't a lute but Jaskier was still skilled at using it.

Eskel makes that same choked noise from last night in the main hall, “Me? Why me?!”

“Well you live here, and you seem rather nice. At least from our limited conversation and the stories I’ve been told. Why wouldn't I want to spend time with you? In fact, we should all three do it together! Perhaps this afternoon in the Courtyard?”

Eskel is strawberry red and looks like he might vomit. Jaskier has no idea what he’s done to make the Witcher’s eyes appear so horrified. Before he can inquire on the source of the matter there is a huff from the cave entrance, “I swear you’re as thick as a rock troll sometimes Pup.” Vesemir comes into view, towel wrapped around his waist. He looks so amused it’s a wonder he isn't laughing out right, “Jaskier is my guest, not my lover. Now stop blushing like a ten year old.”

“Lover!” Jaskier feels most of his face and upper torso heat up, “Why would....” he pins Eskel, who looks both relieved and embarrassed, with a look of confusion, “Did you...that I...that Ves...But why!?”

Eskel rubs the back of his head and looks at a fixed point on the ceiling, “Vesemir never invites anyone here. And you were wearing his coat, sharing wine that he usually cuts people’s fingers off for touching. Plus some of the things you said…” Eskel sighs and laughs a bit hysterically, “Guess I was just overthinking everything for some reason.”

“You were tired. The weather scrambled your brain.” Vesemir said with certainty as he took up another section of the Spring, pulling out a soap Jaskier had made for him that smelled like Rosemary and Sage, “Now, let us finish bathing in peace. We have a lot to get done today.”

\---------------------------------BREAK--------------------------------------

Lambert smiled as he looked up at the familiar sight of his home. Sure, there were bitter memories here. But there were a few that he wouldn't replace for anything. Like the time Eskel almost fucked a goat on a dare. Or the time he saw Geralt fall off the battlements because he was too drunk. Yeah, good times. He turned his smile to Aiden who, despite his obvious nerves, seemed equally excited, “Hey, race you inside?” Lambert suggested when they reached the bottom of the large hill that led to the front gates

“You’re on!” Aiden didn't even wait for Lambert to say go

“You’re a fucking cheat!” Lambert yells after his friend even though his smile has only grown. Despite the head start Lambert still manages to win. He’s so busy boasting that he almost misses the sound of harp strings that wafts out the secondary Courtyard. It paired almost perfectly with the clash of swords.

“You didn't mention any of your Brothers knew how to play.” Aiden comments as he slides off his horse

“They didn't last time I checked.” Lambert copied Aiden and dismounted, “Maybe they learned?”

“Sounds too good for just a year's worth of practice.” Aiden muttered with a slightly furrowed brow

“Maybe it’s magic?” Lambert thinks of a Mage he met not long ago who was obsessed with music as he and Aiden head for the stable, “I knew a man who figured out a way to capture pure sound in crystal. He always had music playing in his house.” a creepy smile and the smell of some mind altering mushroom rushes through his memories, making him shiver, “A super slime ball guy, but smart. Maybe someone took him up on his offer to mass produce?”

“Seems like a stretch.” Aiden said with a snort but the look on his face said he’d have more pointed questions about that one later. Damn curious Cats. The other Witcher lets out a hum of interest and counts aloud as they enter the stable, “One, two, three Witchers for this poor Cat to contend with. Hope you’re up to protecting my hide.”

Lambert eyes the mounts and frowns, “I don’t know that one.” he points at a pale grey thing, young but obviously strong.

“Could be someone lost a steed. Or perhaps another unexpected guest like myself?” Aiden’s nervous energy continues to translate into slightly flowery words. Probably from reading that damned song book all the way up here. Lambert is sure it’s only the abilities provided by the mutations that keep Aiden’s voice from giving out due to singing.

“I recognize Hercules and Scorpion. Geralt would die before he let anything happen to Roach. And it doesn't look like a Witcher’s horse.” 

Aiden chuckled as he took the saddle off of Timber, “What, big and bulky?”

“Well traveled.”

“As previously stated Lamb, things happen.” Aiden makes a show of taking in a huge whiff of air through his nose, “And unless you smell something I don’t this Keep has not a single hint of aggression or bloodshed about it.”

Lambert takes a page from Geralt’s book and simply hums in response. The sound of steel on steel shrieks for a moment and then there is a bark of unfamiliar laughter. Lambert tightens again but stays visibly collected for his guest. Once the horses are taken care of they move to the training yard. What Lambert finds is mostly what he expected. Eskel and Vesemir are sparing, and they’ve obviously been at it a while. Lambert holds no doubt that it was Vesemir to take the earlier heard victory. The only thing off is the stranger who sits aside on a bench. Simple clothing, brown hair, a harp held lovingly in his hands, and blue eyes instead of a Witcher’s gold. His cheeks are bunched as he smiles. The smells that waft over the yard are forgien yet familiar. His Kin mixed with much softer things like herbs and fruit. He sees Aiden sniff a little more in the strangers direction and realizes something extra spicy comes from that particular area. Almost like…

“Black Pepper?” Aiden voices aloud just as Lambert thinks it. The whole yard stops at the uttered words. And suddenly Lambert is the center of attention. Great. 

Somehow, as if by a true miracle, something breaks the tension. A voice full of mild insult but mostly teasing rings through the silence, “I’d like to see you do better with the circumstances. Sure, I’ve got fruit and everything. Though Gods forbid anything spicy make its way here. Normally I’d prefer a red pepper of some sort. But with the enhanced senses and everything I understand the need for slightly bland food.” the stranger hops up from his bench and marches toward them with a smile, “So, who is who? I know one of you must be Lambert. Though who the other might be I can only guess. Perhaps a Griffin?” Before Lamber or Aiden can answer the man is close enough to see the medallion on the other Witcher’s chest, “Cat? Vesemir never mentioned Cats.”


	7. Chapter 7

Jaskier laughs as Eskel is once more knocked back by one of Vesemir’s mighty blows, “Look out there Eskel. He almost cut those awful bangs of yours.” Jaskier quips as he strums something particularly difficult on the harp in his hands while the Witchers take new stances. The thing might be old but the strings are as good as new. And the sound, Gods be thanked for good craftsmanship that could produce such a thing. With a giddy giggle Jaskier tried to continue timing his plucking with the sword strikes. It had become a sort of game over the last week. And surprisingly enough it had been Eskel’s idea.

_“Why not just time it with our swords.”_

_“What?” Jaskier asked as he looked up from his picking. The Witchers were taking a short water break from their morning practice. Jaskeir had sat with them, as he’d suggested earlier, and been trying to inspire himself._

_“That wouldn't be a bad idea.” Vesemir said, obviously having understood something Jaskier still didn't grasp, “It would certainly be less distracting. And perhaps good for the Bard as well.”_

_“Someone want to explain at any point?” Jaskier asked in mild irritation. He hated it when people talked about him like he wasn't there._

_“If you tried to time your playing with our sword strikes.” Eskel elaborated, “Do you think that would be a good exercise for you to try? It’s not that we don’t like your playing. It’s just all that starting and stopping to random tempos is a bit distracting for practice.”_

_Jaskier pushes away the hurt he reflexively feels. Eskel’s face is open, genuine. He’s trying to find compromise where there is only just the beginnings of an issue. Jaskier thinks over the proposal and says, “We can try.”_

“Better than that floof you call style.” Eskel responds as he managed to duck under Vesemir’s next strike and deviate the sword aimed for his shoulder from its original path with his own blade. Jaskier follows the slide of steel with one of the strings beneath his fingertips. The sounds mixing create a shiver down the Bard’s spine.

Instead of responding, Jaskier decides to let the poor Witcher concentrate. After all, Vesemir is a difficult opponent. It’s a few minutes later, during a period where Jaskeir feels almost like peace has descended fully upon them, that a voice echoes oddly around the Courtyard, “ Black Pepper?”

Jaskier turns and sees two men who can only be Witchers. The swords, eyes, and posture are dead giveaways. The one with scruffy brown hair has his gaze fixed on Jaskier. The words that had broken the peace register and Jaskier winces, feeling the need to defend his choice in soap fragrance to the overly sensed Witcher, “I’d like to see you do better with the circumstances. Sure, I’ve got fruit and everything. Though Gods forbid anything spicy make its way here. Normally I’d prefer a red pepper of some sort. But with the enhanced senses and everything I understand the need for slightly bland food.” He gets to his feet and eagerly approaches the two new arrivals. One looks confused while the other is offering a hesitant smile, “So, who is who? I know one of you must be Lambert. Though who the other might be I can only guess. Perhaps a Griffin?” Jaskier notices the medallions and decides to get a jump on answering his own question. What he sees confuses him slightly, “Cat? Vesemir never mentioned Cats.”

The reaction those words invoke nearly gives Jaskier a heart attack. Eskel growls and lunges forward, sword held defensively as he pushes Jaskier backward to take his place. Vesemir’s familiar arms wrap around his waist and drag Jaskier backward several paces while Eskel hisses, “What the Hell Lambert!? Why did you bring one of those _things_ here?”

Jaskier, still confused, watches as the shorter of the two strangers seems to grow smaller where he stands. The curious smile has evaporated to be replaced with one of bitter resignment. The familiarity of that expression makes Jaskier’s heart ache painfully. Before there is even an answer to Eskel’s hostile question Jaskier says, “That is far too rude Eskel!” the body dragging him backward pauses, the arms loosening. Eskel stiffens but doesn't turn to look at them. The two other Witchers have no such qualms, golden orbs fixed solely on Jaskier at this moment, “You should be ashamed. Witchers more than most know what it’s like to be met with scorn. And after such a long trip too, it must be Hell.” With no small amount of effort Jaskier manages to pull free from Vesemir’s grip and stumbles forward so he can put hands on Eskel’s shoulders, “Surely, if there is tension here, it is better talked out over ale than spilt blood?” he softens his tone and slowly reaches out a hand to touch Eskel’s wrist, pushing down, “Please? We were having such a nice time.”

“You don’t know the whole story, Songbird.” Vesemir’s rumble isn't angry, just tense. Jaskier will count that as a win.

“You’re right, I don’t. So how about we all go inside and talk over whatever we need to. It’s clear these fellows need a good washing at the very least.” he tries to end with a tease

Vesemir huffs while Eskel snorts fondly and lets his sword arm finally drop, “You are too much sometimes.” he doesn't sound as frustrated as he tries to look 

“He’s your responsibility since you feel so strongly about it.” Vesemir adds firmly

“Hey!” the dark haired Witcher who had yet to speak finally barks. He looks angry and confused while his companion looks slightly hopeful, “Who the fuck is that?! And why is he in charge of Aiden?! I’m the one who brought him here!”

“He’s in charge of both of you.” Vesemir corrects sternly as he comes to stand shoulder to shoulder with Jaskier and Eskel, “You’ve always had odd tendencies but bringing strays home is new. If you’re really serious about this an outsiders opinion might help.” Vesemir pushes Jaskier forward slightly, “Still, the Songbird will show the Cat around while we have a more private chat.”

“Of course. If the Master of the Keep insists.” the Cat Witcher, Aiden, acquiesces almost instantly. 

“If you try to do anything to him we’ll gut you and hang you over the entrance like a warning.” Eskel growls lowly

“Eskel! That is disgusting.” Jaskier leapt forward and wrapped an arm around the smallest Witcher’s elbow, “I’m sure we won’t have to worry about anything like that. Now come, Aiden is it?”

“It is.” the arm he’s looped around tightens and that nervous smile becomes slightly more genuine, “And you are?”

“Oh, little old me?” Jaskier geared up to properly introduce himself when Eskel barked from across the Courtyard where the Wolves had already gathered together 

“Take him away from here Songbird. Private chat, remember?”

“Yes, yes, Witcher hearing.” Jaskier waved away the words and dragged the poor nervous Witcher toward the main castle entrance, “What do you want to see first? Probably the kitchen right? There is a nice fire going already, or at least there was at breakfast this morning.”

“Food actually sounds great!” Aiden perks up just a little more, “Don’t suppose anything sweet might be lying around?”

“Maybe some fruit?” Jaskier watched the Witcher wince slightly before he laughed, “I jest dear Witcher. There are several candies and other such things stored in the back of the pantry. Until now I’ve had no allies to help me reach the shelf they’re stored on. Not even a stool! Perhaps you could…” Jaskier made a show of batting his eyes as they finally made it to the door and entered

Aiden chuckled, “I’d be delighted. After all, Cats were born to climb.”

\---------------------------BREAK--------------------------------------

“I was a fool.” Lamber says once he’s seated on a bench and under Eskel and Vesemir’s watchful eyes, “I took a contract that reminded me of one I’d seen the previous year.” Eskel winces and the younger Witcher growls, “I know, an obvious trap.” Lambert looks down and hits his thigh with a closed fist, “But I was so short on coin. I hadn't eaten in l long fucking time. I didn't really have any other option.”

“We’ve all been there pup.” Vesemir offers a kind hand on the younger’s shoulder, “What happened next?”

“A meal before the hunt, for strength. That’s what the Lord said.” Lambert snorted bitterly, “Enchanted instead of poisoned, so I wouldn't smell it. And the whole place was already filled with so called ‘Magical Artifacts’ so my Pendent had been humming the whole fucking time.” Lamberts hands migrate to his short hair, scraping slightly at his scalp

“Take it easy.” Eskel crouches to put a hand on Lambert’s knee and get more into the other’s line of sight. To help remind him where he was, “You don’t have to…”

“I do.” Lambert takes a deep breath, “Because you need to know how important Aiden is to me.” Eskel’s grip tightens as Lambet continues, “When I woke up I was in a fucking cage. Damned Mage paying off that fucking Lord to deliver Witchers for experiments! Potions, spells...surgeries.” Lambert shivers and Eskel’s heart aches, “There were these organs in jars…”

“Breath pup.” Vesemir’s hand has migrated from shoulder to head, prying the white knuckled grip from the young Witcher’s hair. He replaces it with an almost petting motion that seems to sooth instantly.

“The first day was horrible. He used some sort of magic to tell all this stuff about me. Old injuries, sicknesses....the age when I turned. It fucking hurt! Then he started to tell me what happened to the last guy, like that was supposed to prepare me for being used like a fucking lab rat! And the last Witcher was a fucking Bear!” Lambert takes several more deep breaths while his family pet him all over and Eskel even rubs a cheek on his shivering shoulder, “He only managed to restrain me with some kind of paralyzing gas. He was going to take out a foot of my intestines.” One of Lambert’s hands migrates to his stomach. Eskel whimpers as the slowly growing fear in the air spikes. Then it fades and is quickly replaced with the scent of satisfaction, “That’s when Aiden showed up.” Lambert chuckles in mild hysteria, “He just fucking came out of the shadows, stabbed the guy in the back, and whispered in his ear while he died _this is for my brother_.” despite the tense mood Eskel can’t help but smile. His brother does love an impression when he can get away with it, even when half hysterical, “After that he just let me out and helped me to the surface. Whole manor was destroyed, everyone dead. Like I fucking cared, then or now.” Eskel can’t disagree, “The gas had fucked me up good. But Aiden gave me potions and food. Helped me find a place to lay low with him. Protected me while I came down from the last of it. And after that I just felt like I owed him. So we agreed to do a job together. Then another. And another.” Lambert looks up at them with pleading eyes, “He’s important to me.”

When it becomes clear that that is the end Eskel manages a grin, “Wow, you made a friend. Good for you.” Vesemir’s smile is smaller but no less relieved. Honestly they’re both just happy Lambert survived. He’s the youngest. And while Lambert would hate them for saying it out loud, they worry over him the most.

“Fuck off.” Lambert, despite his distress, still seems amused at the barb

Vesemir turns slightly more serious, “Given everything you’ve said I can understand why you’d feel comfortable bringing him here. The fact that I brought a guest of my own should ease the transition slightly at the very least. Depending on how things go with Jaskier it should…”

Lambert stands straight up so fast it causes both Eskel and Vesemir to step back, “Did you say Jaskier?” he looked surprised and mildly horrified

Eskel felt his own nerves stand on end at that expression, “Yeah, why?”

Lambert’s eyes hold some kind of unidentified tension, “Aiden…”

“NO FUCKING WAY!” Aiden’s voice echoes loudly around the entire Keep

“Shit.” Lambert is away only a half second before Vesemir. Eskel feels slightly ashamed that he’s a whole second behind his mentor. That feeling only lasts another few moments however because him falling behind means he’s not knocked over by the front doors when Aiden comes bursting out of it like his ass is on fire. Eskel is torn between wanting to chase Cat and check on Jaskier. But the sound of footsteps running at a much slower pace after Aiden accompanied by Jaskier’s familiar panting makes up Eskel’s mind. He follows on the Cat’s heels all the way to the Stable. He finds the other digging through the bags of the only unfamiliar horse present. As he’s pulling something out Eskel reaches him, not bothering to slow down as he tackles the Cat Witcher.

“No, I have to do it!” Aiden seems almost lost in some sort of frenzy as he tries to mindlessly scramble out from Eskel’s grip

“Do what?” Eskel tries to find the object Aiden had come for but with the other shifting around so much it’s basically impossible

“He has to see…” Aiden strains, one of his feet managing to twist in an unnatural way so that the heel catches Eskel straight in the balls

Eskel only loosens his hold for a moment but it’s enough for the slippery Cat who is up and away again, “No. Fuck!” Eskel stumbles to his feet and limps as quickly after the younger Witcher as possible. Eskel’s blood goes cold when he hears Jaskier give a loud shriek of surprise, “Jaskier!” Coming up the stairs presents Eskel with an odd sight. Lambert is looking sheepish as he stands next to a smirking Vesemir. Aiden is practically kneeling at Jaskier’s feet as he presents what he had obviously gone in search of. A book. Slightly larger than average but not too thick. Jaskier has his hands over his mouth and looks like he’s two seconds from crying. But instead of smelling distressed the Bard sends off the scent of pure joy, “What is going on?” Eskel asks as he leans against a short wall of stone, one hand going to check his testicles for damage as they continue to throb

“”He’s a fan.” Jaskier sounds awed, “I have a fan who’s a Witcher.”

“We’re fans.” Eskel feels the need to point out

“But you never owned one of the books filled with my songs.” Jaskier reaches out shaking fingers and runs them over words that Eskel can’t see from where he is, “ _I_ don’t even own a copy. I didn't think it was safe to take it with me when I traveled with...well, I declined my copy is what I’m saying.”

“Yeah, it was a gift. Lambert knew I loved your songs so much that he got it for me.” Aiden is practically beaming, “And I was wondering if you’d do me the honor of signing it?”

Jaskier lets the first tear fall as his smile brightens up the whole afternoon, “I’d love to.”

Vesemir patted Lambert’s back, “A fine gift lad.”

“Fuck off.” Lambert’s cheeks burned, though if Eskel pointed it out he’d probably blame the early Winter chill


	8. Chapter 8

Jaskier sighs as he looks up from the large pile of grain sacks he’s been organizing, “Finally!” with a smirk Jaskier turns on a heel and flops back onto the sacks. He’s sure Vesemir won’t be angry with him for taking a break. At least not enough to actually punish him. Jaskier can’t help the smile that forms when he thinks about Vesemir. The old Witcher was so kind and intelligent. And was far more patient with Jaskier’s quirks than most people. He made Jaskier feel valued as an equal, mentally if not physically so. He never talked down to Jaskier, or Eskel for that matter from what Jaskier had observed. Sure, there was a stern or lecture type quality to the man’s tone every once and awhile. But it was never from a place of anger or superiority. Even the way he talked about Aiden’s arrival had been respectful, at least to Jasker.Thinking of Aiden made Jaskier smile wider. 

A fan. A true fan. Someone who knew his songs by heart. And not from traveling with him, but from taking the time to seek out the knowledge because he appreciated Jaskier’s particular flair. Although the Cat had not accomplished such a feat entirely alone. Lambert, the youngest and prickliest Wolf, had gone out of his way to find material that pleased his friend. It’s bittersweet to think about. Because as long as Jaskier traveled with Geralt, all the years of offering friendship and praise, the White Witcher had never gifted the Bard a single thing. Jaskier had chalked it up to being a Witcher, like he had most of Geralt’s odd behaviors. After spending so much time around other Witchers it had become clear that it was just Geralt. 

Jaskier tried to physically shake those thoughts from his head. It did him little good to ruminate like that. Especially when there were a bunch of people around who valued his company. 

“He’s fucking usless I tell ya!” Lambert snapped from outside the Pantry door. 

“I’m sure that isn't true.” Aiden sounds a mixture of amused and scolding, “Otherwise Geralt wouldn't have traveled with him.”

“That asshole is too stupid to throw away a rusty sword that’s weighing him down!” Lambert counters, “He likes useless things. If you ever had to clean out his bags like me you’d know Geralt has a stupid habit of keeping useless junk around.”

Jaskier tries not to make a sound. His cheeks are heating up.

Aiden sighs, his tone still fond for some reason. Odd. Jaskier had somehow hoped the Cat would defend Jaskier more, “This really makes you grumpy doesn't it?”

“I’m not grumpy!” there is the sound of bottles clinking and wood shifting. Perhaps alcohol and cups, “I just need a damn drink.” the tone has switched to oddly defensive.

Even from his Pantry hideaway Jaskier feels some sort of tension rise in the air. Without body language to read it’s difficult to identify. But the mood pops when Aiden says, “You know I’m going to sing with him right? And there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I know.” Lambert’s voice is softer now, the smile detectable in his words, “Why do you think I need the liquor?”

The men laugh as they leave. Jaskier stays a while longer. He tries to ignore the pain that has developed in his chest. Or how his cheeks feel a bit wet. Suddenly the thought of strong liquor is welcoming.

\----------------------------------BREAK-------------------------- 

Vesemir claps softly while his Pups whoop with cheer. Jaskier bows while Aiden laughs and makes motions for the cheering to continue. Vesemir has to admit that while the Cat isn’t as skilled a singer as Jaskier, the lad can hold his own. Vesemir lowers his hands from clapping to grab hold of his mostly empty mug. Normally he doesn't drink with the others on reunion nights. His prime drinking days are far behind him, though he does enjoy a quality beverage. Like the wine sitting in his cup. A 25 years aged red wine from Skellige, bold and spicy with a hint of something savory. But that nonsense with mixed hard spirits was ages past. He had assumed Jaskier shared those habits,having never asked for anything stronger in the months Vesemir had known him. When the idea of drinking to really drink came up however Jaskier resembled a slightly sad puppy looking for approval despite the smile he’d worn. Jaskier’s desire to partake mixed with Aiden’s presence had urged Vesemir to stay. Who knew what might happen tonight. Or the sort of mess it would leave for the morning to shed light on.

“I envy you Lambert dear.” Jaskier declared with only a slight slur to his speech, “To have a companion with such a voice is a blessing. The ballads I could have composed if only offered a bit of accompaniment!” the Bard flopped down onto the wooden bench a bit too hard causing him to wince, but not stop talking as Aiden took a place beside him, “I once knew a man who had a voice like rusted iron. Unfortunately he had a love for singing. I tried my best to teach him. But even I, a seasoned Lecturer, could do nothing for him.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Lambert growled despite pouring more from the watered down pitcher into Jaskier’s waiting cup. Only after preparing one for Aiden of course. Vesemir would admit he was shocked at how the normally prickly Witcher unconsciously doted over the Cat. Putting the other man’s belongings away in a room across from Lambert’s own. Letting the Cat have first choice of soaps in the Hot Spring. Preparing Aiden a plate for dinner. Not to mention Lambert constantly getting between his friend and everyone else. Not really blocking, just hovering slightly. Vesemir was tempted to call it adorable, “Isn't it enough I have to hear more of those damned songs after having to bare it all the way up here?” he slammed his mug lightly down on the table. Seemed that not sitting next to his guest was causing Lambert a bit of extra irritation.

“They aren't that bad.” Eskel put in from his place on Jaskier’s other side, “Maybe a little hard to get out of your head, but not bad.”

“Annoying is just as bad as if he sucked!” Lambert defends himself before taking another drink of his spirit mixture

“Beg to differ! See the previous example.” Jaskier laughs as he sips at his drink and points at Eskel. Even so watered down the Gull makes him wince, “My, this certainly is strong stuff.”

“You act like you’ve never had any.” Aiden teases lightly

“That would be because I have not my fine Witcher.” Jaskier takes another sip and this time manages to hold in his reaction

“You telling me Geralt never shared? You traveled with him for so long I find that hard to believe. Wolves love to show off their spirits.” Aiden shoots Lambert a playful wink 

Vesemir stiffens when Jaskier does, “No...he didn't.” Jaskier quietly goes about examining his mug with interest for a moment. Then he drains it quickly without much warning. Foolish boy is going to be shit faced in no time.

Eskel’s face has morphed to one of awkward concern, “Maybe we could talk about…”

Lambert interrupts with a snort, “Probably didn't want to hurt his little human. They’re so fragile ya know.” While his tone is certainly sharp there isn't any trace of true malic. It’s the only reason Vesemir isn’t angry over Lambert’s mistake, ignorant as it was.

“I’m not weak!” Jaskier snaps, the melancholy gone instantly to be replaced with defensive anger. Lambert grins a bit wider.

“Hey, he didn't mean…” again Eskel is interrupted

“You sure about that _Bard_?” The word sounds like an insult as it drips from Lambert’s lips, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren't your type supposed to be all fancy and shit? Bet you wouldn't last an hour alone in a forest.”

“Shows what you know!” Jaskier stood, his cheeks already flushing with the fresh alcohol, “I’m a great traveling companion!”

Vesemir stands slowly, “Jaskier.” he tries in a quiet but firm tone

“I was the best damned companion a Witcher could ever ask for! I did everything I could for him!” the anger is turning slightly hysterical now, Jaskier’s voice starting to rise

“Jaskier, hey…” Eskel’s hands hover around the Bard’s flailing arms, longing to grab but holding back until it’s really needed.

“You don’t know shit about me!” Jaskier yells those words right in Lambert’s face. The young Witcher looks a bit shocked, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

“He didn't mean it like that.” Aiden then does something that Vesemir is too far away to stop. He pats Jaskier in the center of his back.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Jaskier, in his drunken ire, reacts badly. He turns and swings a closed fist. Had Aiden been a regular man he probably would have been floored. As it was the skilled Witcher caught the fist in a firm grip. While simply a defensive gesture it only served to work Jaskier up further, “LET ME GO!” he yanks back far too hard, his body expecting resistance instead of Aiden’s instant compliance. This causes him to fall back, a heap of waving limbs, into Eskel. They both fall off the bench and tangle on the floor, “NO!” The scent of fear rises in the room so fast it almost makes Vesemir’s head spin. It’s followed by the coppery notes of blood.

“Shit, Jaskier, I’m so sorry!” Eskel clearly is if the nerves in his voice are any indication. The only response is Jaskier jumping to his feet and fleeing. Eskel is scrambling to his feet. There is blood on the hem of his cream colored shirt, “My belt stabbed him.” Eskel offered to all the eyes on him, “I undid it after dinner and when we fell he…” Eskel just gestured to his midsection

Vesemir scents the air in the direction Jaskier had run. Given the amount of blood on Eskel and the light trace of copper the wound wasn't that bad. Probably just a prick. But all of this had obviously worked Jaskier up, “Give the boy a few minutes to himself. With a mind muddled by strong drink he’s probably confused after all that.”

“He’s not the only one.” Lambert sounded oddly hollow, “I know I’m an asshole and everything but I didn't want that to happen.” he gestures at Aiden, “He almost hit his biggest fan in the face because of me!?” For someone so defensive the young Wolf is quick to blame himself for the suffering of others.

Vesemir sighs and shares a knowing look with Eskel, “There are things other than you at play here Lambert.”

“Is it something to do with Geralt?” Aiden asks, looking at the hand that had clasped Jaskier’s fist in worry

“In a way.” Vesemir comes to take Jaskier’s empty seat. Time to tell the tale of how a Bard found his way to Kaer Morhen.

\-------------------------------BREAK-----------------------------------------

Jaskier feels cold as he basically cowers in a corner of the kitchens. The familiar smell of spiced meat and aged cheese reminds him of safety. Has since he was young. When the Head Cook hid him from his Father. When the old man had sworn to the drunken Lord that his _disgrace of a son_ was last seen out in the gardens. 

_“He’ll find you one day young Lord.”_ the old man had said. Jaskier has long suppressed what happened the day the horrid man had.

The sound of heavy footsteps makes Jaskier shiver. So many memories flash through his mind related to footsteps of that nature. His father. Guards in search of a spy. Dukes in search of an adulterer. Predators in search of seemingly easy prey, “I’m not weak.” Jaskier is only aware he has spoken when a voice answers his thought

“No, you fucking arent.” Jaskier opens his eyes, memories vanishing to be replaced with slightly swayed reality. He really had drunk that alcohol far too quickly. Vesemir had tried to warn him tactfully but Jaskier had been feeling...vulnerable. In a way he hadn't for over two years. Not since the Mountain. But he had let his guard down and then....

“Go away Lambert.” Jaskier manages to tremble out from between his lips, “I don’t need your pity.” he only just manages not to snap. His world is tilting, his stomach feels sick.

“Pity is for the weak.” Lambert sounds sure yet still as deep in his cups as he had been however long ago it had been since Jaskier had run ,”I only acknowledge the strong. And do you know who is the strongest in my opinion?” Jaskier just blinks, “It’s me dumbass.” Lambert’s words, though insulting, are spoken at a soft volume. The Witcher lowers himself slowly as he approaches Jaskier. By the time he’s squating next to the Bard they’re looking eye to eye, “Half a year ago I was in a cage like an animal and about to be slit open like a corpse. Aiden saved me. But I still feel shity about it.” they retain eye contact so long Jaskier wonders if he’ll ever blink again, “I think you can understand that right?”

Jaskier finally manages to blink, wetting his lips and mouth with a tongue that is far too dry, “Perhaps.”

“So you get that I understand what it means to not want to be touched without permission. Or maybe how I get a bit agitated when I’m forced to relive memories I don’t like?” Jaskier’s mind flashes back to the earlier events of the day

_Private conversation Jaskier_

“Not a favorite event of mine.”

“Thought not.” Lambert sighs and finally breaks the gaze, his eyes meeting the stone floor, “I wasn't really mad at you.” it sounds like the words are being forced from between two stone tablets, “I was feeling...jealous. After showing my family my weakest self I saw the person who saved me fall at your feet. I was feeling...jealous.”

Jaskier lets out a bark of laughter as fresh tears fall. The look on Lambert’s already slightly guilty face grows more distressed, “Of who?! Some weak artist who only hopes for true Heroics through the deeds of others?” Jaskier has heard similar and worse through his many years as a famous Bard, “I have only ever tried to be a friend to all. Open my mind to the idea that not everyone is who they might be painted as. I’m certainly not a brainless, entitled, accommodating, useless, slut of a doormat. No matter what people might say about me. So who knows who other people might really be.” His arms have wrapped around his knees. The voices of his past echo in his head

Yellow eyes fix on Jaskier in a determined way, “You’ve got a good point Bard. I can already tell you’re going to be another great person I’ve known.”

Jaskier tries to fight down the pathetic hope that blooms in his chest, hoping to fend off future tears, “Oh?”

“Yeah. All the people on that list make me realize what a Jackass I can be sometimes. And I’ve got to admit, I haven't felt this guilty in a long time.” Lambert sighs again and rubs the back of his neck, “Look, I suck at feelings almost as much as Geralt. But I can admit when I’m wrong. So let’s agree to start over on an even ground. I’ll treat you like an equal until you give me a reason not to. You do me the same favor. And maybe that way the people we both care about will stop fussing over us?”

Jaskier could say so many things right now. What he settles on is, “As you wish Lambert. But only if you sing with me.”


	9. Chapter 9

Jaskier loves the Library. It’s dusty, disorganized, and cluttered in piles of pages that nearly reach the ceiling. And it’s all his! At least for the Winter. He’s already reorganized the first few stacks. The old wood gleams in a way it probably hasn't done for decades. The books, at least the ones holding together well enough to shelve, are organized by type, then alphabetically. Anything that needed serious rebinding or basic identification had a separate pile near the door. Jaskier was hoping to at least attempt to keep the collections together. Eskel had promised to keep an eye out for damaged trees during his next hunt and collect as much sap as he can. Jaskier is pretty sure the formula for book glue still dwells within him, give or take a few minor steps. Jaskier sighs in contentment as his rag smoothly glides over old wood. This really is soothing. Especially after the hangover he’d had earlier in the day. Jaskier squints at the shelf he’s just finished polishing. He beams when he can see his reflection in it, “Perfect.”

“I’ll say.” Jaskier screams and turns quickly, his back pressed against the stacks. His racing heart and fear morph to heated cheeks and embarrassment when he sees Aiden looking sheepish but amused next to Jaskier’s pile of unidentified pages. The slim Witcher offers a weak wave, “Hello there. Sorry to startle you.” the smile starts to downturn into a rather pathetic looking frown, “I seem to be doing that a lot lately.”

Ah, there was the shame Jaskier had been trying to cover up. Burning hot as any fresh coal. He tries not to let his mind return to the events of the previous evening. Such a show of raw emotion, no matter the reception, was something Jaskier wasn't very comfortable with other people witnessing. Trying to push away the hot feeling Jaskier offered a weak smile, “You weren't to know.”

“True.” the Cat still looks pensive, “But I’m...not unfamiliar with the issue.” Aiden’s gaze shifts from Jaskier to the balcony doors not far away. They’re ajar, letting the early evening air glide through the room, “Did you know the majority of Cat Witchers travel by a special Caravan?”

Jaskier blinks in shock, “Um, no. That sounds fascinating though.”

Aiden snorts, his eyes dropping closed for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching upward just slightly, “It’s a nightmare.” the tone is fond if a little melancholy, “But it lets you see certain things. Like the suffering others experience on the Path. There's a certain Witcher who I’ve known since I became a member of the Cat School, Cear. He never taught any trainees to fight, cast Signs, make potions, or anything like that. Which, if you didn't know, is odd for a member of any School. All Witchers are meant to pass wisdom to the next generation to make them stronger. That’s how it always was. But this Witcher normally did nothing except cook and sleep all day.” Aiden’s expression turned sad, “The rest of the time he just sort of...existed?” his expression wrinkled, clearly displeased with his own words, “No, that isn't right. Because in order to exist you have to acknowledge the world. And Cear didn't do that. Not on bad days. He’d just sit there and stare at nothing. Most times he wouldn't even bother to sit up for the day. Just lay there and see past the clouds above.” Aiden’s gaze shifted from the balcony to his own hands, “I touched his back one day. I was just trying to be friendly. He screamed and broke my arm before running off into the woods.”

“Oh.” Jaskier can’t think of anything else to say

“Yeah.” Aiden takes a deep breath before his eyes are back on Jaskier, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I hadn't realized you were...but I know now. And if you ever need anything to help with it just let me know.” it’s spoken so sincerely that Jaskier’s brain doesn't even entertain the thought of the offer being made out of pity

“I appreciate that.” Jaskier tries to smile, “Was there anything else?”

Aiden looks at a loss for words but also like he doesn't want to go for some reason. The Cat gestures to the pile of papers nearby. Instead of answering Jaskier’s question he asks, “What’s all this random crap for?”

Jaskier feels his shoulders start to relax slightly, “It’s lost pages and books that are falling apart. I’ll organize them when I’m finished with the stacks.”

Aiden makes a show of looking around the large room, “Don’t know if you could do both all by yourself before the Winter is over. We both know this pile will only grow the farther back into this chaos you go.” a small chuckle as the Cat rubs the back of his neck, “I could start organizing the piles for you. That way, when you finish the stacks, it’ll all be ready for you to put away.”

Jaskier considers this. He knows Aiden is trying to ease his undeserved guilt. But the Witcher also makes a valid point. Seeing how both sides will get something out of it Jaskier nods and relaxes just a bit more, “Sure, that might be better than me doing it. How would I know what pages go together after all? I’m just a simple Bard, not a Monster Slayer.”

Aiden’s laugh is short but genuine, “I’m at your beck and call Master Bard.”

“Good.” Jaskier’s smile rests naturally on his face

\-------------------------------------BREAK-----------------------------------------------------------

“Shit.” Eskel mutters as he takes in the newly discovered hole in the animal shelter. It’s not an elaborate thing, just a miniature size shed for the few goats that still live in the Keep. Eskel himself had built the thing years ago after the previous one collapsed from wood rot. But unlike back then there are no spare boards laying about. All of them will have to be used for repairs this year. 

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asks from across the yard where he’s feeding a few chickens. They were brought up for the season. Once the snow sets in the birds will become food.

Eskel sighs and stands from the crouched position that had let him see inside the small enclosure, “There's a hole in the wall. And we don’t have spare lumber to repair it with.”

“Oh dear.” Jaskier worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he spreads the last of the seed

Eskel looks down when something lightly bumps his knee, “Hey girl.” he crouches anew so he can rub Li’l Bleater between her ears the way she likes, “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to keep you and the others warm.”

“Others?” Jaskier looks around as he comes over, “How many goats are there?”

“About five or six in the Keep. The rest just wander around the mountainside.” Eskel informs the Bard as he moves his hands down to Li’l Bleater’s hooves. He rubs his hands quickly up and down each leg despite the mild wriggling and sounds of protest from the goat

“You care about them.” it’s not a question. But the unasked _Why?_ lingers in the air.

Eskel stands once more so he can look Jaskier in the face. Unlike most humans Jaskier has never flinched from his scar. And the only time he smelled of fear was that first night they met. Though that had quickly dissipated. He also knows so much about the Bard. Perhaps just a bit of sharing is in order. Eskel clears his throat, “Goats make good traveling companions.”

Jaskier barks out a surprised laugh, “Really?” he raises an eyebrow, “How do you figure that?” his grin is fully amused as he turns to head for a pile of hay nearby to continue his morning chores

Eskel thinks carefully how to word this, “People don’t know a lot about Witchers. They think they do, but they don’t. You probably know that just as much as I do.”

“Certainly.” Jaskier agrees as he takes a small bundle of hay and carries it to a trough just inside the gated area where the Horses are being allowed to stretch their legs this morning. 

‘I try to teach people something every time I come to town. I’ve found people fear me less when they see me pampering a goat. If I’m left alone long enough to dismount and stable my animals that is.” Eskel is sure he doesn't have to elaborate on that. Having traveled with Geralt it’s a certainty that Jaskier has been run out of many places simply for showing up in the first place. Though, given the Bard’s own stories about himself, Eskel wonders if the other really noticed that much.

Jaskier beams as he returns for a second bail of hay, “That is a rather clever idea. And I imagine you also use the goats for Witchering?”

“Sometimes.” Eskel sighs and reaches down to scratch Li’l Bleater with mild guilt, “This girl has another year on the Path with me before retirement. After that I’ll probably pick a kid from the Spring birthings and start all over again.”

“And name it Li’l Bleater?”

“Naturally.”

“Well, it’s decided then.”

Eskel looks back at Jaskier in confusion, “What is?”

“I’ll make the goats socks.”

Eskel can’t stop a surprised laugh, “What?”

“I know you build this to help keep the weaker ones warm.” Jaskier pats the top of the enclosure, “And I’m sure you’ll bring more lumber next year. Or Vesemir can fix it while you’re away. But for now we need to make sure their little hooves don’t freeze on all this cold stone.”

“Jaskier, you don’t have to…”

“No, I won’t hear arguing. This is important to you so I shall make something work. Give me a few days.” Jaskier is starting to ramble in that way that means he’s lost in thought as he starts to wander away from his chores, “I’m not excellent at sewing but I’m still no slouch with a stitch. Perhaps something with extra padding?”

Eskel just chuckles as he watches the man go. He’ll refrain from telling the other that goats, especially the breeds they keep around here, are designed for the cold. They could become sick or weakened if exposed to too much, but they had the Stable if things really got that bad. It seemed to make Jaskier happy to do this for Eskel though so, “I think he likes you girl.” Eskel says as he reaches down to scratch the goat again

\-----------------------------------------BREAK-----------------------------------

“No, you gotta weigh it on the fucking wax paper.” Lambert instructed with mild frustration, “Otherwise some of it gets left behind on the scale plate.”

“Does that really make a difference?” Jaskier asked curiously as he looked at the few specks of dried herb clinging to the metal in his hands.

“More than most people think it does.” Lambert assures, taking the ceramic casing from the table in front of Jaskier, “Do it again, but this time use the paper. And use a different bit for each new ingredient. Otherwise all your work will go to shit.”

Jaskier focuses on the bottles before him that Lambert had prepared. For the next few minutes the man silently works as Lambert had been teaching him to all morning. Slow movements, precise measurements, and careful execution. All very important skills to have when making bombs. Even simple smoke bombs like these. One wrong move and....

POP

“Fuck!” Jaskier starts to choke as a huge plume of smoke explodes in his face

Lambert grabs the Bard and flees the room, slamming the door behind them. The window in the laboratory is open for this very reason after all. In a few minutes the room will clear out and they can try again. In the meantime Lambert guided the still coughing Jaskier down the stairs to the kitchen where he procured some juice. 

After Jaskier has finished his drink and stopped coughing he frowns at Lambert, “Why am I doing this again? This is the third time something like this has happened today. If this keeps up my voice may be injured!”

“You’re fine. Sounds as smooth as ever.” Lambert assures with a shit eating grin, “And it’s your fault anyway.”

“My fault!?” Jaskier snaps in mild affront, “You’re the one who dragged me up those stairs after breakfast demanding my attention. I even tried to leave and you wouldn't let me.”

“I meant the smoke was your fault. You moved the case before you capped it. But yeah, the fact we’re doing it at all is also your fucking fault. Because you won’t let me teach you how to use a blade.” Lambert lets his smile slip a little

“Weapons only draw trouble.” Jaskier argues, the same point from the night before when Lambert had asked about his fighting skills

“So does sleeping with peoples wives.” Lambert repeated his argument as well but sighed and waved away whatever Jaskier had been about to reply with, “But I get it if you don’t want to learn. So instead of teaching you to fight I’ll teach you how to run away better.”

Jaskier’s frown vanished to be replaced with mild confusion, “What?”

“The smoke bombs are super easy.” Lambert explains, “Great for confusing the Hell out of people who are chasing you. You can bolt off in a different direction while everyone is distracted. Or just hide in a room until everyone clears out thinking you already left.”

“Oh.” Jaskier is beaming at Lambert. It makes Lambert want to punch him for being adorable. Men shouldn't be adorable, “Well, in that case, I suppose one more try wouldn't hurt.” 

\----------------------------------------BREAK--------------------------------------------

“Lambert says it’s going to snow soon.” Jaskier says out of the blue one evening

Vesemir cracks open an eye and glances at the chair to his left. Jaskier is slumped into it. The wine goblet in his hand is empty. His grey orbs reflect the fire he stares into. Vesemir doesn't shift much, just a quick straightening of his shoulders. The day had been long and filled with much manual labor. A hearty meal and decent bottle of wine mixed with a roaring fire was just the thing afterward. But the look on Jaskier’s face let Vesemir know the Bard’s mind wasn't on his full belly, “In about another day or two.” Vesemir agrees with the statement. He already knows what Jaskier is going to ask about but waits for the Bard to voice his thoughts.

“Does that mean Geralt will be here soon?” the tone is blank

“Perhaps. It’s still possible that they go somewhere else for protection this Winter.” Though he says the words, Vesemir knows that neither of them believe that. Geralt had always seen Kaer Morhen as a place of strength and safety. There was no way he would take his Child Surprise anywhere else.

Instead of speaking, Jaskier leans down between their chairs to pick up the bottle of wine on the floor. He takes his time pouring a new helping into his goblet and putting the bottle back, the whole time never really coming out of his slumped position. Jaskier drinks deeply from the cup before he mutters, “How will you explain this to him?”

“I’ve said it before, I explain nothing to others in my Keep. My word is law here. And the law says you are welcome as family.” Vesemir leans down for the bottle and refills his own goblet as he says, “You shed blood and tears for the School of the Wolf. You make life easier for all Witchers with your songs. And you bring valued light to a dark way of life. You are welcome here whenever and for however long as you desire.”

The silence stretches for several minutes before a quiet voice whispers, “Thank you.”


	10. Chapter 10

_Twelve Weeks Ago_

“He used to sing at my Birthday feasts.” Ciri mumbles as she pokes their campfire with a stick

Geralt really shouldn't be as surprised as he is to hear that. Instead of being angry like he probably would have normally been, a sort of grim fondness overtakes him, “I’m sure he did.” Geralt let his eyes trail from the sword in his hands to the leather case that hangs from Roach’s saddle. Inside it is the only thing Geralt now has to remind him of his greatest friend. That...and the order that had assured said man’s death. The fondness turns to burning grief.

“He tried to sing about you once I think.” Ciri pokes the fire again, a bit harder. Geralt turns to see her eyes shining with more than fire light, “Grandmother had him thrown in the stocks for a whole day. Said it was a song loyal to a Kingdom other than Cintra.”

Geralt lets that sit for a few moments before letting a question slip from his lips, “Do you remember what the song was called?”

Ciri’s smile is as sad as her eyes, “The Wolf’s Howl of Justice.”

_Eleven Weeks Ago_

Geralt doesn't even growl as his sword swings down to slice through the neck of yet another mercenary. He’s too tired. Honestly, the slowly oozing wound in his leg is a lucky break. Normally he would have been able to take some two bit thugs easily. But he hasn't slept in almost a week. The reasons are too numerous to count but the top contending ones are nightmares, paranoia, and grief. Mix everything together and honestly Geralt would have rather died of exhaustion before sleeping. Or he would have had Ciri not been a factor. Her eyes are terrified as she runs out from behind a tree and stares at his injury. The orbs shine far too brightly as she practically drags Geralt back to their camp and starts to pack the whole thing up by herself. It’s odd how, watching the colorful creature flit around, changes pale hair to dark. She seems to grow and morph before his eyes. Geralt blinks and mutters, “Jaskier?” before the world tilts

He wakes to a fire and a worried looking Ciri, “You needed sleep.” is her only answer to all of the unasked questions that surely fill his eyes, “I made sure no one came. But I couldn't figure out how to get rid of the bodies.” she pointedly doesn't look off in the direction of the small Mercenary party, “You said rotting bodies draw monsters right?”

“They do.” Geralt sits up and looks around. The camp is mostly packed up. Roach looks ready to go at a moment's notice, “You learn fast, looks like.” Geralt gets up to pack the bedroll he’s been sleeping on. He tries to offer her a small smile. She really has been brave, considering everything. Including Geralt’s own inability to really care for himself properly when distracted.

“I want to prove I can be a worthy travel companion.” Ciri say while returning his smile

Geralt refuses to drown in the memories of similar words and a hopeful smile on top of a mountain. Instead he lets his smile drop but makes sure his eyes stay soft as he motions at the fire, “So, you built that?” Ciri nods, “Can you put it out properly?”

_Ten Weeks Ago_

“I did it!” Ciri’s shouts of joy are heard long before she reaches their camp. 

Geralt looks up from where he’s placed himself by their small campfire. He’s pretty sure he looks like he’s been there the whole time and not like he’s been following Ciri around the woods. Which is good, because she had asked him not to do that. But of course he had. Because despite the pure wilderness they’ve been trekking through you can never be too careful. Especially when your enemy has access to countless Magical resources. So obviously Geralt had followed her to check the snares she had set up last night to catch the morning’s breakfast. And he had seen the smile on her face when she found they had worked and caught both a pheasant and a rabbit. If he thought that was heart warming he had no idea. The beam of pride that’s been added on the run back to camp makes Geralt’s chest ache.

“See, I can do this.” Ciri sits down next to Geralt with determination, “We’ll make this trip. And escape Nilfgaard.” her eyes drift to Roach where Geralt knows Jaskier’s lute case still sits, “After everything...we have to.” her pride filled smile wavers

Geralt is bad with words. So he does something a friend had told him helped once. He reaches over and puts his arm around Ciri’s shoulder. He pulls her slowly to his side. And then he mutters as best he can without really looking at her, “I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

“I know.” is the slightly watery reply

_Nine Weeks Ago_

“Hah!” Ciri swings the small dagger so forcefully that it flies from her hand and buries itself about an inch from Gerelt’s foot

For a moment they both just stare at the dagger. Geralt had decided it was time that Ciri started to learn to fight. Not just as a practical defense. But also to take her mind off of things. Learning how to hunt and set up camp had done a wonder for the girl. Fighting was basically all Geralt had left to teach her. And the dagger plunged into the dark earth had been bought for the purpose of teaching. Just because it would never be given to its intended owner was no reason to let it go to waste.

“Tighten your grip. And plan the swing before you make it. Figure out how much damage you want to inflict and where.” Geralt begins to instruct as he reaches out to pluck the dagger from the ground. He lets his thumb run over the flowers engraved on the pommel of the blade as he hands it back to Ciri.

_Eight Weeks Ago_

“Um, will this do Master Witcher?” askes the nervous shopkeeper as he offers up an old looking book.

Geralt reads the front and nods, “Do you have the tools to go with it?”

The man nods his head so fast it’s a miracle it doesn't detach from his neck, “Yes, of course. How much will you…”

“Several weeks worth...and something to protect from damage caused by the cold.”

“Yes, of course.” the man scurries off again

Geralt huffs and looks back down at the book. Aloud he rumbles softly, “Lute maintenance? What am I doing?”

_"Protecting my baby"_

Geralt snorts at the not there words that ring in his head. 

_Seven Weeks Ago_

“What will they be like? The other Witchers I mean?” Ciri asks as she peels an apple with her dagger. They are sitting next to a small river that cuts through a beautiful valley. The fields around them are littered with yellow and blue flowers.

Geralt looks up from sharpening his sword to consider the blue sky above, “Different from me.” he says honestly, “Eskel will be reserved until he has reason to trust you. After that he’ll be more loyal than anyone. Lambert is an ass. Don’t let him scare you though. He’s the best to have at your back in a fight. Vesemir knows more than I ever could, and he knows it. Listen to everything he says, respect him as best you can, and you should be fine.”

“Is it...really just the four of you?” Ciri has stopped fruit peeling

“No.” Geralt makes an effort to smile as he lets her hear how sincere he is, “Now there are five.”

_Six Weeks Ago_

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Geralt asks as the familiar dagger sits heavy in his palm, “It’s not irreversible, but it would take some time to fix.”

“It’s better this way.” Ciri sounds firm but nervous, “It keeps giving us away when we go to a town for supplies. If it fit under a hat we might be able to hide better.” her small hands shake as they take locks of hair and lift them for Gerelt to cut, “Do it.”

Geralt looks at the platinum blond locks. He’s reminded instantly of Ciri’s mother, as most people are. She looks so much like Pavetta. Both a curse and a blessing. A voice, one he’s been hearing more and more, echoes with a familiar reminder

_“You are the White Wolf for a reason Geralt!”_

“Ciri.” Geralt makes sure Ciri’s eyes are firmly fixed on him as he pulls his long hair up into a makeshift tail before lopping it off without further hesitation, “We’ll both get hats.” 

She smiles while he cuts her hair.

_Five Weeks Ago_

“I feel like this is a waste of time.” Ciri mutters grumpily

“Shh.” Geralt replies, his eyes closed but ears straining for any shift in the thin wooden stick stuck into the river bank beside him, “You’ll scare the fish.”

“You said that an hour ago!” she snaps, but her voice has returned to the previously requested whisper, “Shouldn't we be traveling?”

“Not today.” Geralt says as he opens his eyes and stares up at the slightly cloudy sky, “We rest today. Won’t have a lot of time after the next two miles.”

“But can’t we do anything else?” rarely does Ciri sound like a true child. But the whine in that tone actually makes Geralt smile.

“Learning to be patient and still is an important skill for a Witcher.” Geralt says seriously despite his expression, “If you can’t sit still for an hour or two you’ll never last the five it might take to fall into your first _true_ meditation.”

“Five hours!?” Ciri shouts in horrified surprise

Geralt lets out a sigh and says matter of factly, “Now the fish will take even longer to bite because you’ve yelled.” inside he can hear familiar laughter

_Four Weeks Ago_

Geralt holds Ciri tight as she sobs her heart out. Despite her many trials it is rare for the child to have nightmares. But when they come, they come with a vengeance. Ones so hard it sometimes makes it difficult for Ciri to properly breath. But Geralt is here for all of it. He isn't going to make her suffer alone. Because while he can’t express it the way she can, and for him it’s been decades since his own tragedy, he knows what it’s like to watch your whole life burn along with everyone you ever cared about.

_Three Weeks Ago_

“Here, does this fit?” Geralt asks as he adjusts the odd woolen hat from an old woman’s stall. The hats are made to warm the ears and hold any hair from blowing away with the wind. They come in mostly brown and grey. But Ciri has insisted that he wear the blue one. Given how hard she’d been trudging along for the last few weeks Geralt had decided to indulge her.

Both Ciri and the old woman smile. Suddenly Geralt realizes he’s going to be buying two of these things. And one of them is going to be blue.

_Two Weeks Ago_

“Ciri, run!” Geralt hisses as he gets off Roach and pulls his silver sword

“Geralt? What…”

Geralt swats Roach’s hide before Ciri can get her full question out. While she’s preoccupied trying to get the horse under control Geralt can focus on whatever is in the woods. He’s sure it will take the girl at least a few minutes. Roach is well trained to run from danger. As unnatural fog suddenly takes over the area he’s never been happier for that particular trait in Witcher horses, “Fucking Fogletts.” he growls as he swings his wrist, letting the sing of silver lace through the air like a sort of sonar to enhance his hearing. Footsteps, two pairs. One much larger than the other, “Fuck.” he swears again, slightly softer this time. An older Foglett might hold stronger illusions. He had once almost died to one that pretended to be a child in the middle of a fight. Before he can linger too long on the old memory the footsteps get too close and illusions drop a few feet away. Geralt’s pendant hums with the slight magic of it as he swings. For several minutes he fights with the shadows. Occasionally he’ll hit something a bit more solid. But he’s mostly sure it’s the younger of the pair. As he slices through the youngling’s neck he hears a familiar voice whisper in his ear. 

_"Geralt"_

Only his muscle memory and years of training saves him despite Geralt’s whole soul wishing his body would stop the swing of his blade. The silver sword cuts through the image of Ciri, expression exactly the same as it had been while being taken away by Roach, to reveal a quickly dying Elder Foglett..

When Ciri makes her way back, the fog cleared away with the lives of the monsters, she finds Geralt knelt on the ground. He hasn't taken his eyes off the monster since it let out it’s death rattle. 

That night neither of them slept. 

_One Week Ago_

Geralt looks up at the Mountain pass, “This is it.” he shifts his gaze to the figure on Roach’s back. Ciri is already bundled up, prepared for a long trip up a cold pathway. The clouds already appear heavy with snow but Geralt is sure they can beat it, if not only fall behind half a day, “We’ll be there soon.”

_Present Day_

Jaskier sighs as he watches the snow fall outside the window. It’s been a steady fall all day, having started around early evening the previous night. He’d had plans to get one last walk over the battlements before then. Jaskier wasn't complaining about the view. The valley below was beautifully covered in white, cold, powder. But his eyes weren't great for picking out details at this distance like a Witcher’s. Which is exactly what he was trying to do. Eskel had mentioned the first great snow fall many times since his arrival a few weeks ago. And Aiden had referenced getting here early to avoid being trapped in it. Yet here it was, and Geralt had not appeared.

“He’ll be here Songbird.” Jaskier turned to see Lambert leaning against the Library doorway. The man looked as smug as always, but there is a dash of softness and worry present, “He’s a tough bastard. And any soul tied to his is probably twice as stubborn. Girl or not.”

“Of course you’re right, as always, Lambert.” Jaskier is about to try for a dry chuckle when a yell echoes on the wind. Almost as if it doesn't exist at all. But Jaskier hears the high pitch clearly. Then it grows louder and louder until it seems to shake the very air.

“hhhheeeeellllPPPP!!!!!!”

Before it’s even cut off the room is empty of men who have gone in search of it’s source


	11. Chapter 11

“Blue.”

Ciri blinks down at where Geralt is walking next to Roach, “Really? Not black?” she asks through chattering teeth

Geralt allows a huff of amusement to escape, “No, not black.”

“Why is blue your favorite color?” Ciri presses, seeming a bit too interested in this particular bit of information

Geralt considers that for a moment, “It’s the color of the sky on a clear day. Or a calm lake surface. I also like the way it looks when dyed into silk.” he offers up a small smile, “It’s also the color of the hat you picked out for me.” Geralt gives the saddle bag a pat. 

Roach nickers and slows suddenly. Geralt lets the hand on the leather bag travel upward to where his swords are strapped as he looks around. There isn't a lot he can pick up, the falling snow dulling several sounds and smells. But Roach is smart, she always knows when something isn't right. Often, as the present case nailed home, before Geralt did. Roach shuffled in place and shook her head up the path. Geralt followed the motion and growled. A pack of wolves came over the next small hill. Not uncommon in the mountains, but to venture this high up the beasts had to have been starving. He lets his eyes roam over their thin forms and foaming mouths. 7 of them, all fully grown and feral with hunger. Realizing they’ve been spotted the wolves start to growl and spread out to circle their prey. Geralt draws his steel blade and curses the fact that the pass is too dangerous to simply let Roach run away with Ciri like usual. 

“Take out your dagger and pull your legs up.” Geralt growls and moves to Roach’s front as Ciri follows his orders, trying to draw all the wolves' attention before they can separate too much, “C’mon!” Gerlat half shouts, grinning when more than one wolf flinches. Even starving as they are, predators recognize predators. One wolf loses its patience and charges. It’s clumsy and slow, easy to cut down at the neck. As he swings his blade around Geralt hears another wolf coming up on him from the left. He rolls to the right while sending his sword on a glorious arch. It knicks the wolf’s stomach, opening up a long but shallow cut. The animal retreats to recover it’s wits while two more rush Geralt straight on. The next few minutes of Geralt’s world become hyper focused on the sound of growling wolves and Ciri’s quick heartbeat behind him.

“Geralt!” 

Ciri’s cry distracts him from the jaws headed for his left thigh. Only as his eye land on Roach kicking away a wolf does Geralt register the weight dragging him to the ground, “Fuck!” he cries as he swings at the neck of his attacker. Even though the body falls the head remains attached. Which makes dodging the last wolf impossible. It takes hold of his defending arm as they both go down fully into the snow. It takes far too long to get his sword around but eventually the body above Geralt stills forever, jaw falling slack in one final snarl.

“Geralt!” 

“Ciri?” Geralt finds the weight of the wolf on his chest suddenly crushing. The world feels like it’s spinning as his nose fills with the smell of his own blood.

“Fuck!” Geralt finds enough air to snort at the sudden vulgarity because the wolf shifts. Little by little it moves until Geralt can breathe a little easier and Ciri is leaning over his face. She is crying, “You have a wolf head attached to your leg!”

Geralt manages to look down at the hideous sight. The puddle of blood there would help explain the lightness in his head, “Ciri, you have to go.”

“What are you…”

“It’s not much farther.” Geralt’s world starts to spin harder. Ciri’s worried face blurs, “Get on Roach. She knows the road. Find help. Find...find the...Witchers...Esk…La…”

\----------------------------------BREAK-------------------------------------

“Geralt?” Ciri feels like her voice echoes in the sudden quiet of the forest. All around the bodies of wolves send steam into the air from their open wounds. Geralt is sending up his own steam. He’s not talking anymore, “Geralt!?” Ciri reaches down and puts a hand to his chest. It’s rising and falling, yet he refuses to wake, “Geralt!” she puts both hands to Geralt’s chest and shakes him as hard as she dares, “GERALT!” Roach makes a noise behind her. As if to remind her of the sleeping man’s last wish. Ciri glares at the horse, “No. I’m not leaving him. I refuse to leave him. I’m never leaving anyone ever again!” Geralt had said the Keep wasn't far. She knew, despite a lack of control, that her odd powers made her loud. Louder than any normal person should be. Loud enough, perhaps, to be heard by a Caste full of Witchers. If she really really tried, really gave it her all, she could do something for the man who had saved her. Ciri took the deepest breath her chest could hold and screamed.

\----------------------BREAK---------------------------

“I’m not one of your damn pups Ves.” Jaskier gripes as he hangs water over the large fireplace of the once proud infirmary. Shelves once stocked tight with herbs now gather dust. The chest that had at one time held balms and creams now holds all the medical supplies available. The beds that took up space in the large room had long since been a primary sacrifice for kindling. Only three beds remained intact enough to use. All of which Vesemir was currently replacing sheets for. Jaskier continued his argument while moving on to the next task given to him, beating dust out of old pillows, “I didn't have to listen to you. I’d rather be out there with the others looking for Ciri and Geralt. But you just had to have help with this like some old man. When we both know you’re perfectly capable of handling this yourself.” Jaskier pointed an accusing finger as he picked up his first pillow, “So what gives you the right to order me around like I’m some….some…”

“Child?” Vesemir stopped and turned with a raised eyebrow. His face was still in that annoyingly calm expression. The same one he had worn since telling the others to look for Geralt and basically demanding that Jaskier and Aiden stay behind despite the bundled up coat and already saddled horse. While Jaskier had come with Vesemir to the infirmary Aiden had been sent to the potions brewing chambers below to collect a few important things. Vesemir stood fully, abandoning his current task, “I know that’s the word you were searching for. Yet contrary to your current behavior I’ve never viewed you as such. I’m more concerned about your human parts.”

“I’m not weak.” Jaskier can already feel the anger building, “You said so yourself!”

“No, not weak.” Vesemir agrees with solid certainty that dampens the fires of Jaskier emotions, “But you are emotional. And the last thing my boys need while trying to save family is another member falling apart. You belong here where you can be useful.”

Jaskier’s jaw flaps up and down while Vesemir turns in dismissal. The words come from a place of respect and love. They are as true as any the eldest Witcher has ever spoken to Jaskier. A part of Jaskier wants to latch on to the bit about him being emotional. It wants to drag Jaskier down into a pit of doubt over Vesemir’s reasons for keeping him here. But another part, something that sounds like a chorus of familiar voices, screams over that familiar dark monologue. They say nice things. Tell him he’s loved, valued, respected, cared for, but most of all that Vesemir said Jaskier was useful here. Jaskier was _useful_ here. Needed, wanted, useful Jaskier.

“The pillows Jask, sometime this hour!” Vesemir snapped

“Yeah, right.” Jaskier focuses on his task instead of the urge he feels to smile. This is a serious situation. There would be time to feel this familial bond later. 

\---------------------------------BREAK---------------------------------------

The wind howled all around, sending white to blind the eyes of living things, “Fucking snow!” Lambert snapped as he galloped his horse down the narrow path, “Fucking wind!” he snapped louder as the icy gusts continued to bite into his eyes and cheeks

“It couldn't be this far out could it?!” Eskel called from not too far behind, “All this weather wouldn't let the sound carry too great a distance.”

“Well it’s not like we have a lot of leads!” Lambert reasoned as he focused his senses on the forest around and the path ahead. He both longed and feared seeing something, anything, to indicate what kind of cluster fuck they were riding into. A part of him whispering darkly that they were probably already too late to help with whatever had occurred. And then the first real scent other than cold snow drifted up his nostrils. Lambert growled and pushed his horse harder, “Blood!” he cried back at Eskel

“Fuck!” Eskel manages to overtake Lambert on Scorpion. He tops an oncoming hill a few moments before Lambert and swears again. Without pause the older Witcher leapt from his still galloping horse, medical bag already in hand. Lambert decides to take the offensive before he even crests the hill himself. So once he does he leaps like his brother had, sword in hand, ready to defend from any enemy.

Only, all the enemies have already fallen. Wolves with emaciated bellies split open littered the narrow path. In the middle of it all stood Roach next to two unmoving human shapes. The continually falling snow has already begun to bury the scene under a thin layer of white powder. It makes the congealing puddles of blood scattered all around a macob pink color. Lambert moves for Roach, lowering his sword, while Eskel kneels by the bodies, “They dead?” Lambert asks bluntly as he examines the horse for injuries. Nothing too bad, just a shallow claw wound on her left flank.

“No. Though not from lack of trying on Geralt’s part by the look of it.” Eskel sounds grim as he moves the smaller form aside, “Take her.”

Lambert hesitated. She was so still...and small. It had to have been her voice that had reached the Keep. But how could such a tiny thing make such a sound? As Lambert picked up the child he frowned harder. Laying in the snow hadn't done the poor kid any favors. She was like a solid sheet of ice, lips already a worrying tint of purple, “What should I…” 

“Find something to wrap her in and get her on your horse. I’m going to also need help tying Geralt to Roach.” Eskel’s hands are moving in a sure way but his tone is worried. Lambert can relate.

Lambert snatched a blanket from Roache’s saddle bag, making sure to wrap it as tightly around the girl as possible. He put her up on his horse, making sure she wouldn't fall off, before moving to help Eskel with Geralt. Lambert hissed as he saw the amount of blood that had soaked into the dirt where Geralt had lay. Eskel gave him an empathetic look, “He got bit in the thigh.”

“Shit.” Lambert gets on his horse as quickly as he can once Eskel had tied Geralt firmly to Roach.

\-----------------------------------------BREAK--------------------------------

Aiden waits next to the entrance, shifting from foot to foot. The infirmary was stocked with potions and dusted within an inch of its life. Jaskier was busy tearing fresh bandages while Vesemir worked hard to stoke every fire in the Keep on the lower levels. That left Aiden on watch for the returning party. He really hoped that all of this preparation would end up being for nothing. But Destiny was never kind to Witchers. Aiden knew this from his own past experiences, and those of his friends. For a moment his mind drifted…

_“Please…”_

_Aiden tries not to make a sound as he descends the stairs that lead to the Mage’s lair. The Mage who had stolen the heart, and various other bits, of one of Aiden’s dearest brothers. The plea made it obvious that Certa was not the last to fall into the clutches of this vial man. Aiden risks a peak around a corner and winces._

_The Witcher is strapped to a large table and stripped of everything but his small clothes. It’s obvious there is some kind of drug running through his system with the way his eyes roll and his muscles strain to function properly. The chains holding the other to the table rattle as he begs again, “Please don’t. No.”_

_“Hush young one.” The voice is sweet like rotten fruit. A man dressed in a long red cloak appeared from a side room with a tray covered in something shiny, “As I’ve said, this is all for the best. Your miserable life will finally mean something.”_

_The chains shudder with one final great effort before the bound Witcher goes slack and just manages to gasp out, “Fuck you.”_

_“Now now, no need for language like that.” the Mage scolds like some sort of lecturer. Aiden tries to hold in a growl while he climbs the low hanging rafters to get a better angle. This Mage is powerful enough to have subdued at least a dozen Witchers and control an entire Estate. Aiden is only going to get one shot at this. Or the Cats will have to send someone else to avenge him as well. He watches the Mage approach the table with the tray. From above Aiden can now make out many different knives and scissors as well as a few small jars. The man’s next words make Aiden shiver, “It’s only a bit of intestine I’m removing. It won’t be enough to kill you.” a darker tone takes over the almost scholarly one, “Perhaps when we take out most of your liver in a few days you’ll have more to worry about.”_

_As the Mage raises his knife to make the first cut Aiden gets his chance. He drops without a sound and buries his knife with long practiced efficiency into the neck of the stunned man...monster, who stood in front of him. He takes great care to say, “This is for my Brothers.” before the Mage stills forever. He lets the filth drop to the floor where it belongs and looks down at the Witcher, “It’s alright, I’m going to help you.”_

“AIDEN!”

Aiden blinks and looks down the trail. He had missed them before, staring off into space as he had been. But now, back in reality, he sees they’re close. With one more horse added to the party. Aiden can make out something cradled in Lambert’s arms while a still figure is slumped over the unfamiliar horse. Looked like they’d need those preparations after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is, I hope you all liked it. Reunion should be next chapter.   
> Have a great week everyone!!!


	12. Chapter 12

_Blood_

_Screams_

_Fire_

“NNNNNOOOOOO!!!!” Ciri bolted awake with her throat burning. When she realized it was from her own scream she closed her mouth as fast as she could. The world was warm, still, and soft in pause that followed. It was also well lit now that someone was slamming into the room with a candle. Before she could think she reached for her dagger, but it wasn't there. She scrambled off the thing she lay on, a bed, and took a fighting stance. But instead of charging at her the figure just asked worriedly

“Are you alright Princess? That scream was enough to shake the rafters!” the man’s eyes shine with true concern. And a Medallion shaped like a wolf hangs from his neck. As the light from his candle flickers she sees the scars that mar his face.

“Eskel?” she whispers softly, hardly believing it’s really over. Geralt had told her of his brothers many times. She’d recognize this Witcher anywhere.

Eskel blinks, “I...yes. How did you…”

Ciri lunges and clings to his middle, tears already falling down her cheeks. Memories, both of the nightmare and the wolves, bring her to it. The trip had been so stressful. They had almost made it all the way here in one piece. But then those blasted wolves and Geralt’s stupid bravery had ruined everything. And now all she could think to do was shed tears while strong arms wrapped slowly around her and a deep voice vibrated in the chest her face was pressed against.

“It’s alright little one. We’ve got you. You’re safe now. Everything will be alright.”

Running footsteps make Ciri tighten her hold. Another unfamiliar voice asks, “What the fuck happened?!”

“Be easy Lambert.” Eskel says without stopping his embrace, “She had a nightmare.”

“That’s what she does when she has nightmares?! I had a book vibrate off a shelf and land on my head!”

“I’m sorry.” Ciri whimpers. The last thing she wants to do is make a bad first impression. What if they kicked her out for being too much trouble?

Lambert made a choking sort of sound, “Don’t...it’s not your fault.” a heavy sigh, “I was just...worried.”

“Was that as painful to admit as it sounded?” Eskel teased as he loosened his hold on Ciri so he could turn and look at Lambert. 

Ciri risked a peek and took in the new Witcher. He was leaner than Eskel and Geralt but no less muscled. He also looked like he’d swallowed something sour. When he made eye contact with her the expression melted into a small frown, “You need anything kid?”

Ciri sniffed, “Geralt.” Both of the Witchers winced and Ciri’s blood ran cold, “Where is he? Why isn't he here with me?”

“We gave you a private room cause you’re a girl.” Lambert said bluntly, “Geralt is downstairs. But…”

“He hasn't woken up yet.” Ekel finished when Lambert trailed off, “But that’s to be expected. He lost a lot of blood.” Eskel wrapped his arms back around Ciri and lifted her slowly, “You also suffered hypothermia, so we need to get you back in bed. You’re shivering again already.”

Ciri suddenly noticed how cold she was. Eskel wasted no time depositing her in the large pile of furs that covered the bed, “Will he be alright?” she asked as exhaustion started to overtake her previous rush of panic

“He’ll be fine Princess. Sleep for a while longer. When you get up again we’ll have hot soup ready for you.” Eskel ran his fingers through her tangled hair

“Hmm.” Ciri hummed happily as darkness settled over her mind

\-------------------------------BREAK-----------------------------------------

“I’m not cooking soup.”

Eskel sighed at Lambert’s near silent grumble as they headed for the door, “I know.” he responded just as quietly while closing the bedroom door behind him softly, “Jaskier is a much better cook anyway.”

“He’ll be too distracted.” the line is said with an odd combination of smug and resigned

“Oh?”

“I found his Lute in Geralt’s stuff.” Lambert gave a mocking shudder, “They’ll be singing for days.”

“You found it where?!”

\-----------------------------BREAK----------------------------------------

Jaskier had missed his Lute. And why shouldn't he have? It was his! A gift of the highest caliber from an Elf of Noble standing. It produced the clearest notes to ever be plucked from strings. Jaskier had won countless competitions, earned even more countless favors on the road, and hopefully created a better life for Witchers everywhere with this instrument. This Lute was the single greatest thing that Jaskier had ever owned. And it looked wonderful despite the amount of time the two of them had been apart. At least...relatively wonderful. There were places where the strings weren't evenly waxed, or the surface of the wood a bit more worn than it should be from slight over-care. It resembles a combination of a true artist’s tool and that of a novice composer. It warmed his heart to know someone had taken care of her in his absence. Geralt must have found it shortly before reaching the mountain judging by how fresh the polish was. He hoped the Witcher had at least thanked the person on Jaskier’s behalf. Though, the fact that Geralt had this Lute at all was a true shock. Jaskier had been under the impression that Geralt never wanted to be reminded of him again. Yet...

Jaskier’s fingers are hovering over the strings, shaking with the urge to play. But something still doesn't feel right, “So...are you gonna play it?”

Jaskier barely holds down a squeak of surprise as he turns and glares at Aiden, “I swear I’ll get a bell to put around your neck Cat. Just see if I’m bluffing.”

Aiden snickered as he came to sit next to where Jaskeir had positioned himself in front of the Main Hall’s hearth, “I’d like to see you try and get it on me.”

“I’ll make Lambert do it.” Jaskier quips back, “He’d do anything for some of my berry pie. I know just how he likes his crust.”

“You fiend.” Aiden proclaimed in mocking dramatic fashion while plopping down on the armrest of Jaskier’s chair, “But seriously, why aren't you playing it yet? I’ve been dying to hear you really let loose all Season.”

“Ah, you noticed that did you?” Jaskier lets a hand tap a rhythm on the wood in his grasp

“The others probably have too.” Aiden casually, but slowly, puts an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, “Does it have something to do with...before?”

“Perhaps.” Jaskier raised a hand to his throat, shaking fingers grazing lightly over the skin. Memories of hot liquid bubbling up to his lips makes him shiver, “I bled back then. From the screaming.” the hand on his shoulder tightens and Aiden does this sort of fidget that brings him closer to Jaskier’s side, “I suppose I’ve been a bit more careful about how much I use my voice.” Jaskier pushes a hollow laugh out when he hears himself speak those words aloud, “It’s a bit silly. I certainly wouldn't do that to myself on purpose.”

“Of course.” For a few moments they just sit silently before the roaring fire, “But don’t you have a bunch of new songs you want to try out? I know you aren't fond of the Harp.”

Jaskier let out a groan of true artistic frustration, “I _hate_ that harp.” he slumped a bit in his chair, “Just don’t tell Ves. I’m grateful for the loan, truly, but it’s never been my instrument of choice.”

“I’m pretty sure he already knows.” Aiden winks and hops to his feet with a renewed smirk, “Come on, give me something to drink to.” he headed for the small chest that contained bottles of various hard liquors

“If I must.” Jaskier gave up and strummed his lute for a few moments, mentally going through some of his newer compositions. Eventually he landed on something and started to make an easy yet plucky tune.

_When you get older, plainer, saner  
When you remember all the danger we came from  
Burning like embers, falling, tender  
Long before the days of no surrender  
Years ago and well you know_   
_Smoke 'em if you got 'em  
'Cause it's going down  
All I ever wanted was you  
I'll never get to heaven  
'Cause I don't know how  
Let's raise a glass or two  
To all the things I've lost on you  
Oh oh  
Tell me are they lost on you?  
Oh oh  
Just that you could cut me loose  
Oh oh  
After everything I've lost on you  
Is that lost on you?  
Oh oh  
Is that lost on you?  
Oh oh  
My dear, is that lost on you?  
Is that lost on you?_

Lambert and Eskel entered the Main Hall with smiles on their faces. Eskel migrated to sit in another chair next to Jaskier by the fire. Lambert and Aiden started doing some kind of stomping dance together. The increased audience gave Jaskier renewed vigor that he poured into his performance.

_Wishing I could see the machinations  
Understand the toil of expectations in your mind  
Treat me like you never lost your patience  
Tell me that you care more than hate me all the time  
And you're still mine_

_So smoke 'em if you've got 'em  
'Cause it's going down  
All I ever wanted was you  
Let's take a drink of heaven  
This can turn around  
Let's raise a glass or two  
To all the things I've lost on you  
Oh oh  
Tell me are they lost on you?  
Oh oh  
Just that you could cut me loose  
Oh oh  
After everything I've lost on you  
Is that lost on you?  
Oh oh  
Is that lost on you?  
Oh oh, oh oh_

Vesemir smiled sadly to himself as he let his foot tap to the music that echoed through the empty halls. It had been astounding to see the Lute when Lambert unpacked Geralt’s things. But there had been something heartwarming about the sight. Perhaps the fact that it meant Geralt was thinking about Jaskier despite sending him away. Maybe the pup was starting to pull his head out of his ass. It might be enough for Jaskier to consider forgiveness. Though not before every other Witcher had their say on Geralt’s behavior, obviously.

“Jaskier?”

Vesemir looked down in mild shock to see Geralt’s eyes half open, hazed over with an infection induced fever. He leaned forward to put a comforting hand on Geralt’s shoulder, “Easy pup. You’re safe.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt tried weakly to rise, “Have to...can’t let them...can’t die…” his eyes rolled back and he passed out anew

“Oh pup.” Vesemir sighed as he ran a hand through the hair of his best student, “Such a tortured mind. We’ll ease it once you wake...I hope. Guess that’s up to the Bard really. Well, him, and your own stubborn pride. Don’t let me down boy.”

_My dear, is that lost on you?  
Is that lost on you?  
Let's raise a glass or two  
To all the things I've lost on you  
Oh oh  
Tell me are they lost on you?  
Oh oh  
Just that you cold cut me loose  
Oh oh  
After everything I've lost on you  
Is that lost on you?  
Is that lost on you?_

\--------------------------BREAK------------------------------

Ciri didn't know if she was allowed to leave the room. She had been awake for about an hour and hadn't managed to leave the bed. Mostly because the fire had gone out at some point and the room had grown cold. Enough so that the stone floor felt like ice to her bare feet. Luckily she didn't have to relieve herself but that would become a concern eventually. Ciri had considered screaming for help but didn't want to accidentally do….whatever it was that she did.

The knock on the door startled her from her own thoughts and a lyrical sounding tone asked, “Are you awake Princess? I’ve brought breakfast and a change of clothes.”

“I’m awake.” Ciri tried to sit up as straight as she could, shoulders squared, “You may enter.”

The door opened and in walked a face from fogged over memories. The smile was bright and true as the Bard, Jaskier, presented a tray of steaming biscuits and jam, “For the finest Lady in Kaer Morhen.”

“Jaskier?” Ciri blinked, her vision starting to blur with salty tears

“Um...yes? You remember me my Lady?” The tray was set aside as Jaskier’s eyes widened, “Your fire has gone out! Let me fix that. You must be freezing in nothing but your unders and a blanket.”

“You’re alive!” Ciri is up and across the room before she can stop herself. Her arms wrap around his waist and he stumbles at her added weight. The cold under her feet isn't a problem for long because Jaskier has lifted her into his arms properly, holding her tightly, “We thought you had died! Geralt found the orders and…” she finds her words get caught in her throat but forces them out around a fresh wave of tears, “I thought I’d gotten someone else killed!”

“Oh Princess.” Jaskier walks over to the bed and sits, pulling Ciri fully into his lap to curl partly around her back, “I’m safe. I have been since Master Vesemir saved me from the Nilfgaardians. I’ve been here for weeks worrying about both you and Geralt.”

Ciri’s eyes widen and she pulls back enough to meet the kind gaze that hover above her, “Geralt was distraught when we found the orders.” she says seriously, “He told me the two of you had a fight the last time you spoke.”

“That is not something a child like you need worry about. That was an argument between adults that..” Jaskier looks uncomfortable

“Did you find the lute?” Ciri pressed

“I...yes? I don’t know where you found it but…”

“Geralt found it on some Nilfgaardians.” Ciri explained, feelinging like it was important to share this. Something about seeing Jaskier alive, whole, and in good spirits made Ciri determined. Geralt had moped and grieved for weeks about his lack of closure with this man. She knew the other was bad with words so perhaps she could help for once, “He took care of it like it was made of gold. He called me Jaskier once, when he was hurt. Geralt can’t be in the same room as anyone singing your songs. And he…”

“My Lady.” The firm tone makes Ciri stop. Jaskier looks like he’s seconds away from crying but she isn't sure if it's because he’s happy or angry, “As much as I appreciate what you are trying to do, it isn't your place.” Ciri bites her bottom lip, “I am here for you right now. Geralt is still recovering. Our talk will come later. For now, I’m at your disposal.” Jaskier shifts her off him and gestures at the tray he’d set aside, “How about we start with breakfast. After that we can take you down to the Hot Spring and get you washed up. I’ve made a few citrus soaps I think you’ll really like. After that we can explore the halls a bit. Does that please you?”

“I…” she examines the man’s face and feels a bit guilty for the tightness that now surrounds the smile, “Yes, that should be fine. Geralt told me a lot about the Springs.”

“I’m sure they’re more glorious than he described.” Jaskier assures, his smile loosening slightly, “When Vesemir first showed them to me I thought I would break down and weep.”

Ciri can’t stop a little giggle from escaping, “Surely you jest Bard?”

“There may be many rumors about Witchers being Monsters and Evil Men. But one has to admit they know how to relax when given the chance.” Jaskier’s tone is joking, jovial, and it makes Ciri smile. He shares breakfast with her before leaving her to change into a rather large dressing gown. It has obviously been rehemmed recently, perhaps within the last few hours, and the quality is a bit poor. But the effort brings renewed tears to her eyes. 

Ciri tries not to feel like a burden. Geralt had assured her multiple times that Destiny was responsible for the fate of those who had fallen, not Ciri herself. Seeing the dedication of men who had never truly known her, seeing their attempts to bring her comfort, was too much for Ciri to bear at the moment. She allowed herself a few minutes of tears before wiping them away and opening the door to see Jaskier smiling at her and holding out a pair of slippers. She took them with merely a nod of thanks and followed him down to the Springs. They truly were glorious.

\---------------------------------BREAK----------------------------------------

Geralt’s eyes snap open and he sits bolt upright with a name on his lips, “Ciri!” his ears echo with the screams from his dream

“Be easy pup.” a soft hand touches his shoulder

Geralt simply growls and rolls away from the touch. His descent to the ground is unexpected but doesn't slow him down. He rounds on the presence and growls before his vision clears enough to see Vesemir standing there. Upon seeing his mentor, many familiar scents clogging his nose, his body relaxes and Geralt’s muscles suddenly feel like they’re made of lead. His mind followed shortly after. As the adrenaline receded pain flared. Geralt’s left leg gave out and he yelped the likes of which he hadn't uttered since he was young. And just like back then a strong hand on his shoulder stopped him from a full face plant.

“Always so dramatic.” the tone is as gruff and fond as ever, “The little Princess is fine. She’s had a bath recently and is currently eating lunch with the others.”

Geralt’s mind swam as he was eased back and onto the bed he had previously jumped out of. Wolves, he remembered wolves. He remembered pain, telling Ciri to flee as he bled out in the snow…, “She made it here?” Geralt tries to make sense of how he got here. Surely Ciri couldn't have reached the Keep in time for them to make it back to the spot where Geralt had lay and still find him alive.

“She didn't. But her scream echoed all over the valley.” Vesemir’s brow raised when Geralt couldn't hide a wince, “I should be more surprised I suppose. Though given what I’ve heard about the girl’s mother it seems only natural.”

“She told you?” Geralt is shocked. He hadn't even been sure the poor girl knew the whole story. Geralt certainly didn't. He’d tried his best to explain the betrothal feast but the memory had felt...tainted. Thinking in that direction brought back the odd dreams he’d been having. Snatches of unfamiliar songs sung in a far too familiar voice.

“No.” Vesemir’s answer broke Geralt from his spinning mind as the older Witcher stood to fetch a pitcher and cup from a table in the center of the room. Suddenly Geralt realizes he’s in the infirmary at the Keep instead of his room, “A friend of mine who was present for the occasion shared what little they knew. And after learning of Nilfgaard’s pursuit of you we realized you would most likely end up here.”

“What friend?” Geralt asked as he accepted the full cup of water from Vesemir

For a moment the man looked pained. He opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted when the door opened, “Hey Vesemir, the cub wants to...oh! He’s up!”

Geralt blinked at the unfamiliar face. The eyes said Witcher. But it was no Wolf Geralt had ever met. His eyes naturally shifted down and he couldn't stop a guttural growl from slipping out around the word, “Cat.” when he spied the Medallion

“Oh goody, this shit again.” the Cat rolled his eyes, “You explain it to him. I’ll get the little Princess.” the door closes without any further conversation

Geralt’s eyes are instantly fixed accusingly on Vesemir. The Witcher looks tired and still a bit pained, “Please try to keep an open mind this Season Geralt. There are a lot of things going on, only some of which concern you as much as you’ll think they do.”

“Like the Cat?” Geralt tried to let some of his anger go. He had come here to keep Ciri safe. But Cats couldn't be trusted with secrets like this. The bastard would probably sell it for coin the first chance he got.

“That Cat is named Aiden.” Vesemir says firmly, “And he saved Lambert’s life. They are rather close friends. Any problems you have should go by him first.”

“Lambert made friends with a Cat?” Geralt tries to picture his prickly brother doing something like that

“You made friends with a Bard.” Vesemir points out with mild cheer in his tone

Geralt’s confusion turns to cold grief instantly. His stomach feels heavy. He breaks eye contact with Vesemir and stares into the roaring fire not too far away, “We weren't…” the familiar phrase dies on his tongue. Geralt swallows hard, “He’s gone now.” Geralt knows his tone will indicate the clear deeper, more painful, meaning to his words

“Remember what I said about open minds pup.” Vesemir says knowingly, the smile still audible in his tone

“What are you…” Geralt trails off when the door to the room opens again and Ciri comes rushing in. She’s clean, freshly clothed, and smiling. 

“Geralt!” she cries in glee and climbs up on the bed beside him to hug his bruised torso, “You’re awake!” his arms naturally wrap around her and the smell of her calms his nerves. As he hugs her closer a different scent drifts up, “You’ll never believe who…”

“Jaskier?!” Geralt’s head snapped up as the door creaked open a bit more. He blinked several times. He wasn't sure if the room was silent or he was just shutting down again. Jaskier, Julian, Bard of Witchers, Geralt’s best friend...was alive. And standing there looking at Geralt like he expected to be yelled at.

Eternity seemed to pass as the two simply looked at each other. Eventually Jaskier raised a single hand and, with a painful looking smile, waved half-heartedly, “Hello Geralt. Long time no see.”

“You’re...alive?” Geralt felt Ciri stiffen in his arms

“Yes.” Jaskier still looks so skittish as he moves slowly into the room, going to stand behind where Vesemir has retaken his previous seat, “Ciri informed me of the Orders you found. It must indeed be a shock to see me standing here whole and hardy.” he puts a familiar hand on Vesemir’s shoulder, smile becoming a bit more genuine, “You can thank Ves for that. Stubborn old bastard heard I was in trouble and came running to my aid.”

“You make it sound so heroic.” Vesemir quips with a snort, but doesn't push the hand on his shoulder away

“It was to me.” Jaskier sounds sincere and says in a slightly lighter tone, “I’ve already composed a song about it. I shall title it ‘Savior of Larks’. What do you think?”

“Needs work.”

“Witchers.” Jaskier says with good humor and an eye roll. That roll of eyes brings the Bard’s gaze back to Geralt. The man stiffens again, “I...There was…” a slight sigh, “Thank you for bringing back my Lute. Ciri told me you’ve...had it for a while?”

Geralt clears his throat and finds he can’t make eye contact with Jaskier right now. Instead he focuses on Ciri in his arms, running fingers through her clean hair that now shines the color of sunlight reflected off snow without all the mud, “Hmm.” he hears Vesemire sigh and winces, forcing more words from his mouth, “I thought someone should take care of it.”

“Even...even though you thought me dead?”

Geralt can’t find the words to answer, nor the strength to look back up at the Bard. The last few months have had Geralt reflecting on the pair’s many years of travel. The things he said and did, the stories he told the other Witchers, all the times he would have died if not for Jaskier’s presence. And of course, all the horrible words he’d yelled at the undeserving man that had caused their years of separation. His mind spins and for some reason all that he says out loud is, “I thought it might be worth something.”

The smell of anger and frustration fills the room so fast it makes Geralt’s head spin. Especially when he realizes it’s not only coming from Jaskier, but Vesemir as well. Before Geralt can correct himself, explain that he meant it was worth something to _Jaskier_ , the Bard is already out of the infirmary. The sound of the door slamming makes Geralt wince. He looks to his mentor for guidance and is once more surprised at the simmering disappointment that lingers in those eyes, “You’re on your own boy.” The man stands, pats Ciri on the head, and says, “Send the cub out when you feel like some food.” without another word the older Witcher leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is called Lost on You by LP. I changed a few words but I think the spirit applies.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your patience. I hope it was worth the wait. Have a great weekend everyone!!!


	13. Chapter 13

Lambert finds Jaskier angrily chopping root vegetables in the kitchen. The furocity of the cuts almost makes Lambert wince, “What did that carrot ever do to you?”

“Not a fucking thing.” Jaskier hisses while making one last deliberate chop before using the blade to shove the perfectly prepared slices into a rather large bowl on the floor. There were already a large variety of chopped vegetables present. Jaskier uses the tip of his knife to point at Lambert from across the kitchen island between them, “Be useful and fetch me down a deer.” he then points at where a few dried meat shanks hang in the smoker that exists over the large fireplace.

“I’m guessing the meeting didn't go well.” Lambert says as he goes to grab a short ladder. Normally he would have simply climbed but the stones above the hearth are extremely hot for obvious reasons. Using a special hook tool that hangs from the ceiling Lambert manages to grab a large carcass and lower it down to the kitchen island.

“No, it did not.” Jaskier has moved on to a batch of dough. The way he punches and kneads it concerns Lambert a bit.

“Did you want me to do anything with the deer?” Lambert asks for lack of anything else to say

“Large chunks if you please Lambert.” at least the tone is civil even if the actions are violent. Lambert will take it. Clearly Geralt has decided to continue his habit of being an ass. If this is what Jaskier needs to feel better Lambert will do what he can for his newest Brother.

“I managed to find just the thing Jask.” Vesemir’s voice is slightly surprising. Though Lambert should have guessed he would arrive sooner or later. After all, he knew where all the good alcohol was kept in the Keep. Jaskeir was clearly in need of a good drink. But perhaps, after a few glasses, Lambert would make sure to move all the knives out of reach just to be safe, “Ah, Lambert, I see you’ve decided to help with dinner for once.”

“I do as the Bard commands.” Lambert replied sarcastically as he started to work on the butt end of the carcass, “Tell me you at least brought enough of that stuff to share.”

“Not with unworthy pups.” Vesemir argued good naturedly

To both of their obvious surprise Jaskier snapped, “Let the boy have some Ves. He has to get started on his pallet at some point.”

“ _Boy?_ Lambert mouths to himself silently

“Sure, fine. Not like it’s my Keep or anything. Just give all the orders you want.” Vesemir’s tone was dripping with sarcasm as he grabbed down three goblets and a corkscrew. When Lambert reached forward to pour himself a cup Vesemir slapped his hand, “It needs to breathe boy. Old wines have to let out some gas before they taste right.”

“Oh.” Lambert withdrew his now slightly stinging appendage and went back to carving the smoked meat. The silence in the kitchen is broken only by Jaskier’s continued beating of the dough. Lambert is proud of himself when he recognizes it’s for pie crust and not just regular bread. Eventually Lambert can’t take the pressing atmosphere and asks, “We gonna talk about it or…”

The sigh Jaskier lets out reminds Lambert of steam from a tea kettle. The Bard’s shoulders sag and he sets his floured hands down on the counter top before him, “Honestly, I’m not sure what I expected to happen.” Jaskier lets out a bitter chuckle, “Suppose I’m just lucky he didn't scream or throw things at me in front of Ciri.”

“He isn't mad, Jask. I told you that.” Vesemir sounds so exasperated that it makes Lambert smirk

“Well then he should make his feelings clear!” Jaskier snapped as he started to dig through a pile of pots and pans under the counter where he stood. He raises his voice to be heard over the commotion, “Keeping my things because of their value!? Was he serious!? And not even a proper hello!” Jaskier slams several pie dishes down on the abused wood before him with mighty force. The ringing makes Lambert wince, “All he wanted to confirm is that I wasn't dead, and I couldn't even tell if he was happy with the answer.” by the end of his rant Lambert can smell tears and the yelling has become almost a whisper, but Jaskier’s shoulders remain firm as he starts to line the tins with crust, “But fuck him right? I don’t need him anymore.” Despite the salty smell of sadness, Jaskier's scent also holds a large amount of happiness. His tone is firm and proud when he says, “I’ve got a whole pack of Wolves behind me now, and a very fierce Mountain Cat. A Lark like me couldn't ask for a better family.”

Lambert is not tearing up. He’s cutting meat for meat pie. Nothing else.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aiden feels like this might be a bad idea. But, he also doesn't really give a shit. Jaskier was the best Idol a being could ever have. He was full of patience for Aiden’s questions and also bursting to teach all he knew for nothing but the smiles Aiden had to offer. Aiden’s respect could only grow after having heard Vesemir’s tales of suffering both emotional and physical. The source of a lot of that pain was on the other side of this door. Though somehow, despite everything, Aiden knew Jaskier would be mad if that source were to die. So instead he was here to do the only thing he could. Be a Cat. Putting on an exaggerated smile Aiden knocked three times on the wooden door before him and entered without there being an answer, “How ya doin little Ladyship?”

Geralt’s reaction was instant and satisfying, as was Ciri’s, “Aiden!” Ciri tried to get off the bed but was stopped when Geralt took hold of her arm and pulled her back so she was flush with the other Witcher’s side. Geralt let out a low growl while Ciri just frowned, “Geralt?”

“Don’t mind him little princess, I know I won’t.” Aiden winked and let his grin sharpen, “I just came to ask if I’d shown her Royal Highness a very special possession of mine.” he held up a book bound in dark leather that Aiden had polished just for this presentation, “Do you know what this sort of book contains?”

Ciri’s brow furrowed for a moment. Aiden took those moments to come over to the chair set up next to Geralt’s sickbed. The other Witcher is clearly trying to make Aiden burn to ashes just through glare alone. Aiden just continues to grin, meeting the gaze without hesitation, until Ciri answers and draws attention back to herself, “Music?”

“Correct!” Aiden gave her a genuine smile as a reward, “But this isn't any old music book. It contains all the songs written by my favorite Master of the Seven Arts. Do you know what that is?”

Ciri nodded quickly while Geralt just continued to glare, although it had taken on a hint of mild surprise. Aiden held down a derisive snort. Let the Wolf be surprised at Aiden’s interests, most people were. Although usually it was humans and not other Witchers. Everyone had their quirks after all. Coen likes plants more than a rational man should. Lambert loved to create different ways of destruction, be it chemical or physical in nature. Eskel liked poetry and goats! Once again Ciri’s answer brings Aiden back from his own thoughts, “Someone who showed great skill and knowledge in all the most important areas of academia; Grammar, rhetoric, logic, geometry, arithmetic, music, and astronomy.”

“Good to see Royal education isn't lacking.” Aiden opens the book to the middle and says, “Let’s see if you can name this particular Master based solely on a song.”

“Do I win anything if I get it right Aiden?” Ciri askes with an innocent smile that looks far too sly. Aiden makes a note to teach her to lie better. It won’t ever fool a Witcher, who can hear her heartbeat, but it will work so very well on humans.

Aiden beams at her while ignoring how much Geralt looks pissed about the familiarity that exists between the Cat and the Princess, “Excellent question little cub. Let me think.” Aiden taps his foot for a second and then says, “How about you get my dessert for the next week?” He didn't fear losing his precious sweets. Lambert often gave his to Aiden anyway. Ciri nodded eagerly and Aiden looked down at the book again, clearing his throat and straightening his torso the way Jaskier had taught him to do.

_O’er glistening roofs you float_   
_Through lilly-strewn rivers you dive_   
_Yet one day I will know your truths_   
_If only I am still alive_

“I know this one!” Ciri jumped excitedly in Geralt’s hold, although the man himself seemed distracted by the words Aiden had spoken and had let go of the girl’s arm, “It’s Elusive, written by the Master Bard Jaskier!” she looked over at Geralt, her eyes bright, “Right Geralt?”

Geralt didn't respond. His wide eyes were snapping from Aiden’s grinning face to the book he held in his hands. Aiden forced his grin to grow larger despite the way it made his cheeks hurt, “Is that right Geralt? If anyone would know it would be you. After all, you did travel with the man for twenty years. Surely you remember something...right?”

“It’s...his?” Geralt blinks and for the first time can’t look Aiden in the eye

“That sounded like a question Wolf. Don’t tell me you aren't sure.” Aiden forces a look of mild confusion onto his face as he closes the book, “Maybe you just forgot in the last two years?”

“So it is him?” Ciri looks mildly unsure now

Aiden nods and graces her with another genuine smile, “Yes little Princess. The greatest Bard of our time in this Witcher’s not so humble opinion, and I’ve heard quite a few in my time on the Path.” he flips the book open to the first page and turns it around so that both Geralt and Ciri can see the wonderful signature that Jaskier had graced the paper with, “Luckily good old Jaskier decided to sign it for this humble fan.”

“Wow, what wonderful penmanship!” Ciri complimented, which was also one of Aiden’s favorite parts about the autograph. Jaskier had actually taken time to sign it well, with a fresh quill and ink, and let it dry before even moving the page. Geralt looked like he had swallowed a lemon.

“Isn't it though. Perhaps that should be another Liberal Art?” Aiden chuckled as Ciri let out a truly childish giggle. He lets his gaze lock with Geralts and almost shivered with glee when he managed to make the other look away first, “I just thought you might find this interesting. Perhaps another night we can go over it together and see if you know them all?”

“That might be fun.” Ciri looked up at Geralt, as if hoping he might agree. But Geralt looks like he’s deep in thought, perhaps a bit constipated. Aiden decides this is the best he can hope for with the little Princess present and so he stands and bows.

“Well, it’s been a wonderful time dear one but I’m afraid I must depart. I’m told my favorite Bard is busy making us all a wonderful feast for dinner. Hopefully I can be of some use to him.” Aiden turned and waved over his shoulder as he exited the room, “I’ll bring you both something to eat when it’s finished.” with a last wide smile Aiden softly closed the door and walked down the hall. He managed to make it all the way down the hallway and halfway to the kitchen before he fell to his knees and laughed. 

Eskel found him there not long after, tears being wiped away while Aiden caught his breath, “Gonna let a guy in on the joke Aiden?”

“Your brother is so easy to rile it’s ridiculous.” Aiden manages to gasp out while still holding his gut where a mild stitch threatened to form

“Where do you think Lambert got so much practice?” Eskel asked with a smirk as he helped Aiden to his feet, “Try not to be too hard on him.”

“Are you serious?” Aiden felt his hackles starting to rise, “I thought you would be on Jaskier’s side with this!”

“Oh, I am.” Eskel’s smile turns as keen edged as any dagger fit to slice a man’s throat, “But if we all go full charge at him my dear Brother may not survive the winter. And angry as I am at the fucker right now I still don’t want him to die.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Clumsy!” Vesemir barks as he points at where Aiden has fallen onto his back knee, “You have a strong defense but no way to escape! What have you been teaching the Kitten, Lambert?”

“Kitten!?” Aiden sounds both indigent and curious at the new nickname

“He mostly taught me stuff.” Lambert admits reluctantly as he takes a few steps back from where Aiden kneels, “Like how to climb better, pick pocketing, shit like that.”

“Lamb is good at climbing!” Aiden is quick to remark with a wink, “You should have seen him climb this one tree to get away from a pack of Drowners.”

“Aiden!”

Geralt watches all the easy conversation with visible confusion. Eskel would laugh aloud if he wasn't trying to set his plan into proper motion. A few slow steps to the left while the distraction progressed was enough to position Eskel for attack. A quick hand motion and Geralt, distracted by the Cat’s easy comradery with the others, was sent flying a bit farther than he normally would have. Geralt rolls but hits a rather large rock and vaults into a larger pile of freshly mucked stable droppings.

The easy music, which until now had been filling the Courtyard, ended with a sharp note of obvious distress. It harmonized with the dramatic squawk of Jaskier and smothered giggles of Ciri from her place by a training dummy not far away, “Dear Gods, my breeches!”

“Fuck.” Geralt grumbled as he sat up and tried to rub the smelly muck from his face and hair

“Oops, didn't mean to make a mess.” Eskel heads over to where Geralt has fallen. He sees his brother’s frame shift, a hand already half stretched to accept help that Eskel has always offered in the past. But today Eskel walks past Geralt, hardly sparing him a look, and stops at Jaskier’s side, “It doesn't look too bad.” he comments as he examines where the muddy manure had spattered the Bard’s leg

“It’s what I get for following you brutes out into this muddy yard!” Jaskier is obviously being overdramatic but Eskel lets him rant because it’s comforting to see the Bard so free spirited, “Even the puddles are your fault!” 

Eskel chuckles and pats Jaskier on the shoulder, “What can I say, my Igni is the best for melting all the ice and snow. It just so happens to not be powerful enough to dry all the dirt too.”

“Bloody useless you are.” Jaskier teases with a grin 

“At least they weren't your usual silks.” Aiden points out as he returns to a standing position, ready once more to spar Lambert now that Vesemir had finished his lecturing

“The thought itself gives me chills.” Jaskier shivers for dramatic effect

“Why arent you wearing them?” Geralt asks in a tone that indicates he’s been thinking over how to ask that for a while, “I’ve hardly ever seen you outside of something brightly colored until this winter.” he’s gotten to his feet while everyone talked and looks not the least bit upset about the brown streaks clinging to his hair and neck.

Everyone looks to Jaskier who has stiffened slightly. His smile has been replaced with a thin lipped expression of consideration. Eskel doesn't think he’s the only one holding his breath. Eventually the Bard says slowly, “After my capture by Nilfgaard it became apparent that I was drawing a bit too much attention to myself. Ves suggested I give the colors a miss for a while.” a smile creeps up the corners of Jaskier’s lips, “Despite the drab display I must admit they’re much warmer than my former wardrobe.”

“Nothing wrong with the basics.” Vesemir pipes up as he comes over to sit next to his friend on the stable fencing

“Silk feels better under the hands though.” Eskel is impressed that Aiden managed to get so close to Jaskier without anyone noticing. Jaskier himself squeaks slightly when Aiden’s arm drapes over his shoulder and his fingers rub momentary circles where they come to rest, “All the better for a man of the Continent and Court, wouldn't you say Jaskier?”

Eskel has to bite his tongue to stop from laughing at the look on Geralt’s face. It’s like the man swallowed an entire tankard of that one mixture Lambert invented some Winters past, dubbed _The Salamander’s Asshole_. Jaskier chuckles and gives Aiden a friendly shove while Vesemir rolls his eyes, “Quit right my dear.”

“Get back over here pussycat! We arent fucking finished!” Lambert gripes from his place as the only one still on the field

“Can I take his place?” Ciri asked innocently, her wooden training sword drawing patterns in the mud at her feet

“Next year.” Vesemir says before anyone else can say anything, “We have to work on your stamina and stance first.”

“A year!” Ciri looks horrified

“And even that’ll still be with wooden swords.” Geralt confirms. Eskel watches his emotionally constipated brother turn soft as he kneels and puts a hand on Ciri’s shoulder, “It’s not because you’re weak. It’s because we don’t want you to get hurt when you don’t have to.”

Eskel hears Jaskier make a sort of choking sound and a new smell spikes the air. Jealousy, pure and fierce. Though it fades quickly to be replaced with an unfortunately familiar sadness, “I think I’m in dire need of a bath.” Jaskier’s smile is brittle but none of the Witchers present point out the obvious, “Can’t have me running around smelling like a ruffian.”

“Hey, we resemble that remark.” Eskel tries to joke, even bumping Jaskier’s ankle lightly with his own booted foot

“Some of us aren't used to smelling like the backside of a horse.” Jaskier’s rebuttal lacks any real wit but the attempt is a good sign. Jaskier stretches out his arms as he heads for the main doors, “See you all at lunch I suppose.”

“Don’t fall asleep and drown!” Aiden says as a cheerful farewell from his position across from Lambert 

“Focus asshole.” Lambert snaps as he lunges at the Cat

Eskel watches the Bard until the last bit of his linen shirt vanishes behind the doors. He wonders what that odd reaction was about. Eskel turns to see Geralt with what had to be a similar expression to his own. At least the block head noticed something was wrong.

\---------------------------------BREAK-------------------------------

Geralt sighed as he gazed up the short staircase that led to what remained of the Third Floor Dorms. It wasn't a part of the Keep that got much use these days. Unless of course there was a guest for the Winter. Since Ciri was still sleeping in Geralt’s room at night, due to her nightmares, there was only one person currently occupying that floor. Geralt could smell him from here. The strong scent of flowers, sunshine, and wine tickling the Witcher’s nose in a pleasantly familiar way. Geralt wished it invoked the feelings it historically had, a sense of safety and joy. But now all it did was make Geralt’s chest ache with guilt. With each passing day he was growing a larger understanding of all the things he’d done. And even more importantly, how those acts affected someone Geralt had long considered his closest friend next to his Brothers. 

And speaking of his brothers, Geralt could smell them too. Eskel’s scent was a few days old but Lambert’s odor is fresh. Seems he wasn't the only one who had planned to visit Jaskier this evening. He should leave. Geralt is sure that Lambert’s company will bring Jaskier more joy than his own right now. Looking down at the bottle of wine in his hands Geralt wonders if he could get away with dropping off the gift and not sticking around to explain it’s meaning. Surely Jaskier would understand the offering right? At one point Jaskier could be quoted in saying, _“I’ve learned how to communicate with you even if you won’t communicate back, you great oaf.”_ If that was still the case Geralt had only one way of knowing. He goes up the stairs as quietly as he can.

\---------------------------------BREAK-----------------------------

“And then I told him to shove his sack of turnips far enough up his ass that it’d still hang down and trick everyone into thinking he actually had a pair of balls!” Lambert relays with mirth as he lounges by the hearth in Jaskier’s room. Jaksier is laughing so hard that tears are starting to appear in the corners of his eyes. It’s a good look on the Bard. Lambert wishes the little human could be this happy all the time. Lambert takes a deep gulp from his cup of moonshine and goes in for the true punchline of his little story, “Then his wife says…” Lambert pitches his voice just a little bit higher, “...Ain't no balls big enough in this world to make my husband a real man. He’ll always be a stoneless cheat.”

“She did not!” Jaskier sounds amused, scanilized, and very drunk as he slumps against the side of the bed with mirth. He’s sitting on the floor for some reason, a large cushion having appeared under his bottom at some point. His lute sits in his lap, though he holds it more for stability through his laughter then to actually play anything right now.

“She did!” Lambert assures, pointing at Jaskier with his empty hand, “And right in front of everyone in that tavern.”

“I’d like to shake her hand one day.” Jaskier declares as he reaches for his own cup of (human safe) moonshine, “She sounds like a smart woman.”

Lambert’s own amusement dies a bit at Jaskier’s statement. The story he’s telling took place about 30 years ago. Lambert knows for a fact that the woman is dead. Killed by some bandit raiding party 10 years after defending Lambert in that Tavern. He keeps this to himself though, not wanting to spoil the mood they have going. It’s nice, drinking with Jaskier. It’s also very different from drinking with other Witchers. For one, Jaskier doesn't mind Lambert’s occasional ramble. Probably because the Bard does plenty of rambling himself. And Jaskier, despite being a Master of the Seven Liberal Arts, sucks at cards. In fact he sucks so badly Lambert has refused to play him until he gets at least three more years of practice in. Lambert likes to win, sure, but he never had any fun slaughtering underskilled players. That kind of shit could be left for more stuffy nobles. Then there is the fact that they actually Talk sometimes. Not about the Path, but about themselves. It’s a practice that Lambert has long wanted to try with someone other than Aiden. Mostly just to see if his friendship with the other Witcher is based on a fluke in his friend’s brain caused by the maddening mutations of the Cat School. Pushing away those thoughts Lambert manages a smile, his dark mood already lessening slightly at the sight of Jaskier so happy, “If you really want to shake someone’s hand you should look for Gertrude of Perth. Now there was a woman! Tall as Geralt, broad as Eskel, and tender as a spring flower. Soft words, soft hands…” he winks at Jaskier when the Bard giggles lewdly, “...and a soft heart that turned to steel the second you insulted something she cared about.”

“And let me guess, she cared about you?” Jaskier’s eyes sparkle like the true romantic he is

Lambert lets his smile turn into a smug smirk as he takes the tale on its first twist, “Nope. But she really cared about this fucking ugly sheep.”

“What?” Jaskier paused in bringing his cup to his lips

“Yeah. And when I say ugly I mean it. Thing was missing both an eye and a damned leg. Plus, half of one ear. It spat at everything from what I saw when I spent the night in the hayloft. And it bit me on the way in. Told her we should make mutton out of it when I got back from my hunt.”

“You didn't!?” Jaskier has that amused yet scandalous expression on his face again

“In my defense I didn't know it was her fucking favorite. She had ten others in that barn.” Lambert waves away the details with one hand while emptying his cup, “Anyway, she kicked me out of the loft. And I mean kicked. I fell out onto the lawn bare assed and dazed. Next thing I know she’s screaming threats while making her way down.” Lambert rubs his cheek at the memory. He can still remember the punches that followed his forced exit from the barn. He can also remember running down the road and trying to put his pants on while the woman chased him with a frying pan.

“Women are very good at threatening. Even better at following through on them from my experience.” Jaskier comments as his giggles die down. His cheeks are flushed with cheer and drink while his eyes sparkle with wonder.

“Been beat up by a lot of girls have you?” Lambert jokes, wanting that rosy hue to remain. His Brothers all deserve to be happy, even if one of them is a giant asshole sometimes. But his attempt to keep the laughter going seems to have failed because the wide smile on Jaskier’s face falters a little.

“More often than you would think Lambert.” Jaskier sips up the last of his moonshine and returns his hands to his lute where they start to pluck out a nameless tune. Lambert doesn't speak. He knows the new atmosphere that has settled around them. It’s time for a Talk. Eventually, after Lambert has refilled both of their cups, Jaskier speaks again, “I take after my mother in temperament. That is to say, I don’t have my father’s more barbaric tendencies. My younger sisters did not follow my lead in this way. A brother is supposed to protect his sisters...not hide away hoping they won’t find him.” Lambert watches Jaskier’s frame shiver with some long past memory, “Such creative little things, young girls.”

Lambert sees his moment, “Can’t say I disagree. Have you seen what the little cub did to Scorpion’s mane?”

Jaskier blinks in drunk confusion, his fingers still plucking away at his lute, “What?”

“Braided the thing with little yellow and white flowers like some maiden’s hair.” Lambert stretches his smile as wide as possible when he sees understanding start to fill Jaskier’s eyes, “Eskel tried to act like it bothered him but I know he thought it was cute too.”

“Most assuredly.” Jaskier takes to the topic change with visible relief, the tune on his lute becoming a bit more upbeat.

Lambert stiffens when he hears a familiar stride coming down the hall. He tries not to let Jaskier notice it. Instead he starts talking about what he’d like to do with his next batch of moonshine while also keeping a close ear on the approaching idiot. As he starts talking about trying to make something juniper flavored the steps stop outside the door. For almost a full minute nothing happens. Then a small knock brings silence to the room. 

“Is that Eskel or Ves?” Jaskier asks Lambert even as he stands and heads for the door on wobbling legs. Before Lambert can answer Jaskier opens the door and freezes.

To Geralt’s credit he isn't doing that stone faced thing that makes him harder to read. Instead he looks more like a kicked puppy and smells of guilt with a hint of jealousy. Lambert tries not to feel happy about that. He’s impressed with himself for not saying _“See Geralt, he’s doing just fine without you.”_ Because while he is a giant ass, he isn't a vindictive prick...most of the time.

“I…” Geralt clears his throat, “I know I…” his eyes shift to Lambert and then back to Jaskier. With one last deep breath the White Wolf says in a rush, “I know I hurt you badly. It was cruel of me. Especially after everything we’ve been through and all the things you did to make life easier for me. I’ve always thought of you as my friend. But I never showed it to you. I want to try and make things right.” he shoves a bottle of wine at Jaskier so hard the Bard lets out a little _oof_ when it connects with his gut. As he wraps his arms around the surprising gift Geralt continues, “You don’t have to forgive me yet. Just...let me try?”

“Geralt.” Jaskier sounds awed as he clutches the wine like a lifeline, “I...I…” Geralt’s eyes go wide and Lambert falls over laughing as Jaskier suddenly bends over and vomits. The Bard never had responded well to the combination of alcohol and shock.


	15. Chapter 15

Jaksier head _hurts_! Like a tiny man is trying to dig his way out of Jaskier’s head with a blunt pickaxe. As he moans and tries to wriggle further into the pillow under his head he remembers why he feels this way. Damn Lambert and his moonshine that tasted oddly of radishes. But also bless the man for being there when Jaskier needed a drinking companion. Someone to bounce new poem ideas off. Someone to listen to thoughts that plagued him in late hours of the evening. Someone to talk about Geralt with. Geralt…

“Shit!” he sits upright in shock then swears again, “Fuck, my head.” his voice is much quieter for this statement. He hardly notices because his mind is spinning. Blurry shapes, memories, claw their way from the depths of his pickled brain. It hadn't been a dream. Geralt really had shown up. With a bottle of wine and a truly heartfelt declaration of friendship. And Jaskier had… “Fuck.” Jaskier moaned again and flopped back onto his pillow, his cheeks flaming red

\----------------------------BREAK---------------------------

Geralt is unsure if his apology was accepted. Though in true Jaskier fashion it was given an overly dramatic reaction. Vomiting and passing out, not a response that ever bodes well for Geralt. Hopefully that had more to do with the truly unholy amount of alcohol in Jaskier’s system then it did to Geralt's declaration. Either way he has to come down to breakfast the next morning with his spare shoes on. 

Lambert, despite clearly suffering from a massive hangover, manages to smile at him across the table as he sits down, “There he is. Man of the fucking hour.”

Aiden, who is seated next to Lambert like always, continues to rub circles on his friends back while shooting Geralt a smirk of his own, “Yes, man of the hour indeed. I heard all about it last night when Lambert came stumbling into my room. Worth getting woken at such a late hour if it means laughing that hard.” Aiden chuckles. Lambert tries to but winces and groans. Aiden lets out an odd little chirping sound of sympathy and rubs his friends back with slightly more purpose.

Eskel beams like he hasn't all Winter as he enters with a steaming pot of porridge. As he sets the pot down on an already scorched part of the table he looks at Geralt with pride, “Happy to hear you finally pulled your head out of your ass Wolf.”

Geralt stifles a sound of irritation. He knew this would happen the second he apologized. First they give him shit about being a bad friend, which he would now admit without hesitation was indeed the case. Then, after he laid his heart out for all to see, he was being mocked. He just couldn't win with his Brothers. Somehow that one thought cleared away the irritation and replaced it with something warm and fond deep in his chest, “Well, I had a lot of help.” he admits with an almost timid smile as Eskel hands out the bowls

“Damn straight.” Vesemir says as he enters with two large pitchers, probably filled with water, and a stack of simple wooden cups, “Where is the cub?”

“Still sleeping. She had trouble last night.” Geralt’s smile dims as Eskel starts ladling out porridge, “Figured I’d let her get an extra hour or two.”

“Hey, listen…” all eyes turn to Aiden who suddenly, for once, looks hesitant and shy, “I know the little Princess is your Child of Surprise and everything. But if you ever need any help with her nightmares I might know a thing or two that could help.”

“He’s not lying.” Lambert puts in from his place with his forehead glued to the table in agony, “Aiden is good with Head stuff.”

Geralt’s instinct is to say no. He’s tolerated Aiden hanging around Ciri because the other Witchers are convinced that the Cat isn't so bad. And while Geralt hasn't seen the other Witcher do anything malicious, _yet_ , he’s still reluctant to let himself fully believe in the other. Now though, with Winter fully setting in and everyone truly trapped together for 3 months at least, Geralt supposed he could try and continue his trend of admitting when he’s wrong, “If you think you know what would help.”

A tension Geralt hadn't been aware of suddenly breaks around him and Aiden smiles so wide Geralt can see some of his overly sharp teeth, “I’ll talk to the little Turnip tonight.”

“Okay, I gotta draw the line at that one.” Eskel says with a snort from his place portioning out food, “Why Turnip, out of all the other names you’ve used?”

“What do you mean?” Aiden’s tone oozes sarcastic affront, “Turnip is perfectly serviceable. After all, our Princess has hair to put any light colored thing to shame.”

“Onions.” Lambert mumbles

“Yes, an excellent example little Puppy.” Aiden praises and ignores Lambert’s growling as he moves his hand from the center of his friends back up to the top where neck and shoulder meet. Aiden starts doing something with his fingers that Geralt can’t see and Lambert goes limp as the dead while letting out a slightly indecent moan.

“I understand that Cats can be odd in their methods but perhaps pull it back a bit at the dining table.” Vesemir suggests in a tone that doesn't really ask to be argued with

Aiden just laughs and moves his hands from Lambert to the full bowl of porridge that Eskel had just drizzled with honey for him, “Sure thing Grey Wolf.”

For the first time all Winter Geralt feels truly welcome in his own home. It’s nice.

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Ciri wakes alone and doesn't know if she should be happy to sleep in or ashamed that Geralt felt she needed it. After deciding that feeling shame would make Geralt sad, he once mentioned the sour smell made it extra difficult to deal with, she picked happiness. Happy that her Father of Surprise cared enough to let her sleep and didn't force her to function on such little rest. At least not now that they were safe and not constantly on the run. Trying to focus on the light coming through the windows and not the echoing screams of her darker dreams Ciri goes about getting dressed.

She takes the water basin outside onto the snowy balcony and splashes her face clean. The way the frigid morning air makes her wet cheeks tingle helps to fully wake her. Ciri smiles as she goes back inside to dry off her face and replace the basin. Hopefully there will be bacon for breakfast. She feels like she could really use some bacon.

Ciri is so caught up in her thoughts about breakfast as she walks swiftly toward the dining area that she doesn't hear the slightly slower steps coming toward her from another hall. Because of this she ends up running right into someone’s knees. The squawk of dismay followed by a thump of flesh hitting stone indicates that it’s Jaskier. Ciri runs to his side because he’s letting out some truly painful noises, “Oh my Goddess! Jaskier, I’m so sorry. Where does it hurt?” she starts looking him over for injuries. He’s holding his head, had he smacked it against a wall?

“Mostly my pride Dear One. Don’t worry about it.” Jaskier’s voice is rough, like he’s been gargling sand

“Are you sick?” she’s starting to get genuinely worried now

“Only because I made myself so. Foolish adult practices.” he looks her solemnly in the eyes, his own looking sunken in his pale face, “Never drink child. You are too precious to experience such hardship as this.”

“You mean you’re just hungover?” Ciri giggles as she helps the man to his shaking legs

“Just hungover!?” Jaskier gasps dramatically, though more quietly then he normally would, “I’ll have you know I’m suffering Ciri. My stomach longs to meet the outside world!”

“Perhaps they have bacon downstairs.” Ciri offered in an attempt at comfort, “My Grandfather always said bacon and beer was the cure for a hangover.”

“Oh, please, don’t mention alcohol. I may yet faint and die here in this cold stone hallway.” Jaskier continues to be overly dramatic. And while clearly in pain it was obvious to Ciri that Jaskier, now with an audience, was hamming it up a bit. The smell of bacon actually hits them as they enter the hall that passes the kitchen door. Jaskier pauses for a moment to look in before letting them continue toward the main room, “Just wanted to make sure it was Vesemir cooking.” Jaskier confides in a lowered tone,”The other boys are prone to burning it far too much.”

“Who are you calling boys?” Eskel needles good naturedly as the pair enter the Hall, “We’re not the ones moaning and groaning through all the hallways.” Lambert makes a whimper and Aiden strokes his hair. Eskel huffs and his grin increases in size as he eyes his youngest brother, “Well, most of us anyway.”

“Serves them both right.”

Ciri drops Jaskier off with Eskel and hurries over to Geralt’s side near the head of the table. She can already tell, without even having to ask, that something has changed. Jaskier’s cheeks are flaming red as he stares at Geralt with extreme consideration. Geralt just continues to look at everyone with comfortable amusement as Ciri snuggles deeply into his left side. He runs his fingers through her hair like she likes and Ciri lets any remaining tension from last night fade away. She’s safe here, surrounded by her family. Even if they are all very odd people.

Ciri laughs and cheers with everyone when Vesemir brings out a platter piled high with bacon.

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It’s almost two full weeks before Vesemir manages to get Jaskier alone with a roaring fire and a bottle of wine. Surprisingly, that’s only partially due to the man’s last hangover. Jaskier has become the most prized companion in the Keep now that all tension has lifted. Lambert keeps teaching the Bard different kinds of nonlethal alchemy for various purposes. Eskel and Jaskier converse for hours about literature and the finer points of knitting for goats. Aiden spends time in the library helping his biggest human Hero clean the stacks. Ciri catches any spare time she can with the University Professor, learning about politics and poetry between diary limirks that Geralt pretends not to know about. As for Geralt himself, it was so much simpler than that. Anytime Jaskier wasn't working on something he would be lingering around Geralt, usually while in the middle of composing a new song. For the first week it had felt almost tense, like a toe testing the surface of a freshly thawed pond. But something had happened to remove any remaining emotional obstacles and the men resembled what they must have before their fight. And while all of this was wonderful for Jaskier, it was a bit lonely for Vesemir.

“Sorry to keep putting you off Ves.” Jaskier sounds truly apologetic, yet still happy in a tired sort of way, as he sips his first bit of vintage wine

“It must be hard being the prettiest girl in the room.” Vesemir teases as he sips his own beverage, “Though one would think you were used to it by now, the way you tell those stories from Court.”

“And how many of those Courts did I linger in? Hm? None, and this is why!” Jaskier flops more purposefully back in his chair, trying to overpower his happy smile with a mock pout that fails to take root, “A man can hardly find time to himself these days.”

“What a hardship.” Vesemir sarcastically agrees with a smile, “It’s almost like your family cares about you.”

“Family.” for a moment Jaskier’s smile dims. His eyes are far away from here, trapped in darker places. But before Vesemir can try and pull his friend from such thoughts Jaskier beams brighter than he has all night, “Family indeed Ves. Best one I could ever ask for. You’re all so talented and kind. And I’ve never felt safer in my whole life.”

“Good.” is all Vesemir can think to say while his cheeks ache. It’s been a long time since Vesemir has smiled this widely, “Just try and make time for me once in a while.”

“Always, my brave rescuer.” Jaskier flutters his eyelashes in a mocking flirt, “You’re my favorite Witcher after all.” Jaskier sips his wine and sighs in contentment that resonates with Vesemir’s soul, “Just don’t tell the others.”


End file.
